


Pathetic, Ordinary, Liars

by Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Alternate Universe - Dark, Based on a Tumblr Post, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Ron Weasley, Follows along with Philosophers Stone, slytherin golden trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: From midnightfuckingmayor on Tumblr:Dark AU where the trio is sorted into SlytherinHermione, who wants to use knowledge to change the worldRon, who wants to finally be free of his family’s shadowHarry, who wants to be great, to be admired, to be free(Title subject to change)





	1. The Strangest Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first foray into the Harry Potter fandom. This fic is 100% not my idea, but I loved midnightfuckingmayor's Dark AU idea so much... So here we are. (You can find the entire post by searching the name mentioned + Harry Potter)
> 
> This AU follows along with Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, some of the interactions will be the same because I love the way everything is written in HP! I of course claim no rights to the characters as they are not mine (except Erus, she's mine).
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy! Please leave me a comment to let me know how you like it :D
> 
> (This work will be updated weekly until it is completed. I have no plans to stop posting unless people decide they hate it.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let the record show that they were ill-equipped to deal with you. Which is unsurprising, since you're ill-equipped to deal with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All quotes are from Amrit Brar's "Shitty Horoscope" series which was a major inspiration for this series.**

    Harry Potter sat by himself in an empty compartment on the scarlet coloured train that was taking him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was having a difficult time accepting that he was going to be free of his family for most of the year. He was having even more difficulty accepting the fact that Hagrid wasn’t lying – magic really _did_ exist, and he, Harry Potter, could use it.

    When the giant of a man had appeared in the shack Uncle Vernon had whisked them away to, Harry had been sure they were all about to be killed. He didn’t much care for the fate of the Dursley’s – family or not, they were three of the worst people he had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and Harry had long ago decided that he would be having _words_ with whoever had left him with them.

    So to say that Harry was _surprised_ to receive a birthday cake – he’d _never_ received a birthday cake, wouldn’t have known what one was if Dudley hadn’t been around – instead of death was something of an understatement. And when it became clear to Hagrid – who had introduced himself as the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts – that Harry had no idea what he was talking about, the man had turned to shout at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

    Harry had watched the scene unfold with glee, a little sad that Erus was missing all the fun. But it was _brilliant_. Especially when Hagrid gave Dudley a pig’s tail for eating Harry’s cake.

    Until Hagrid had finally got around to telling him about his parents, that is. And all the secrets his aunt and uncle had been keeping from him.

    “You _knew_?” Harry had demanded, white-hot anger licking at the tips of his fingers. The entire hut had shivered, but – now that he knew about magic – Harry didn’t think it had been the wind.

    It was Aunt Petunia who had gone off in a rage, unexpectedly. Uncle Vernon had been the most vocal party so far, but when Harry thought about it, it made sense that Aunt Petunia would be more aware of the situation, given that Harry’s mother had been her sister. Harry listened to her rant, fury making his hands shake.

    And then Hagrid had whisked him away (they stopped, of course, by Privet Drive – Harry claimed he needed to pick something up, when it was really some _one_ ).

    The trip to the Leaky Cauldron had soothed some of his anger, given him moments of clear-headedness that made him realize getting back at his aunt and uncle for never telling him what he _was_ , what he could _be_ , would have to wait. He couldn’t rush in recklessly – he needed a plan.

    And Harry knew he had the patience to come up with a _very_ good plan.

    Inside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was greeted by people he’d never seen in his life, but who acted as though he was some sort of celebrity. They shook his hand, expressed what a pleasure it was to meet him, and were generally so positive towards Harry’s very existence that he found himself speechless. It was gratifying in a way Harry hadn’t expected.

    He followed Hagrid, feeling a little overwhelmed by everything but determined to keep up with the large man. They entered Diagon Alley – and wasn’t that just marvellous? – and headed straight for Gringotts, the wizarding bank. They would buy everything with Harry’s money – and wasn’t that something? Harry had barely owned anything in his life, but now he was apparently the owner of a rather impressive fortune residing in Gringotts.

    The money, Hagrid told him, had been left to him by his parents, although most of the money was actually from his grandparents on his father’s side. Harry absorbed all the information Hagrid gave him as he stared at the mounds of coins and silently wondered whether he had actually died. This seemed too much like a dream to the 11 year old.

    They didn’t only go to the bank for Harry’s money, however. Hagrid retrieved something – something small and wrapped in a grubby package. Hagrid was very quick to hide it away in one of his many pockets, and that was that.

    Harry couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t interested – he was. But he thought of himself as being rather good at reading the atmosphere, and the atmosphere around Hagrid told Harry he wouldn’t be getting any answers from the man. So he left it, content to let his curiosity simmer in the back of his mind. After all, he had other things to focus on.

    Diagon Alley was a lively place, full of strange and interesting sights. They started with Harry’s robes, and then his books, and Harry had the desire to buy every book in _Flourish and Blotts_. Hagrid grinned good-naturedly at his enthusiasm, and told him that most of the books wouldn’t be helpful to him, not this early on. They bought his cauldron, a set of scales and a brass telescope.

    The apothecary was filled with ingredients for potion making. Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for Harry’s basic potion ingredients while Harry explored the store, resisting the urge to pick up and feel things because he had no idea what anything was, and it could be dangerous. Some of the ingredients didn’t even have labels – Harry guessed that they were the most commonly used items in the store, something that everyone would recognise.

    Everyone, of course, except for Harry. For he had never seen such odd and fascinating plants and animal parts. He was admittedly a little queasy when he saw a jar labelled “Snake Eyes”, but he thought that he was justified in reacting that way.

    Hagrid was very good about Harry’s curiosity – he didn’t rush Harry, didn’t demand he stop asking pointless questions and certainly didn’t seem annoyed to be asked. When he didn’t know the answer, Hagrid asked the man behind the counter, who introduced himself as Tom.

    Hagrid checked Harry’s list outside the apothecary’s while Harry peered around. Harry could still see Gringott’s, the white building towering above all the others. He stuck close to Hagrid’s side, watching as witches and wizards hurried past him. Most of them wore plain black robes, but there were odd flashes of bright colours that caught Harry’s attention every so often.

    “Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

    Harry flushed, an equal mix of embarrassment and pleasure. “Hagrid, you don’t have to –”

    “I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze.”

    As much as Harry appreciated Hagrid’s thoughts – not getting him a toad because he’d be laughed at was almost enough to make him hug the man. The only reason he didn’t was because he’d never really hugged anyone before, and the idea of physical contact that _wasn’t_ designed to hurt was… odd – Harry had to interrupt.

    “Hagrid, I don’t want an animal.”

    Hagrid blinked down at him. “Yeh what?”

    “I don’t want an animal, Hagrid. I have… I already have one.”

    Hagrid frowned. “What have yeh got?”

    Harry swallowed. “Do you promise not to tell?” he whispered, which was a silly thing to do in a crowded street, but Hagrid understood.

    “I won’t be tellin’ the Dursley’s nothin’, Harry,” Hagrid said, very seriously. “Yeh have my word.”

    Slowly, Harry nodded. He lifted up his arm and pulled his sleeve away to show Hagrid.

    Hagrid whistled. “She’s a beauty. How’d yeh catch her?”

    Harry shook his head. “I didn’t. She’s my friend.”

    “Well, yer a lucky kid, Harry. Can’t imagine somethin’ like her bein’ particularly friendly.”

    “She wasn’t at first,” Harry said with a grin. “But I won her over.”

    Hagrid nodded to himself. “Right then. No animal. She’s not on the list, but I’m sure Dumbledore won’t mind. But we need to get yeh wand. We’d best head to Ollivanders, only place fer wands. And yeh gotta have the best.”

    And off they went, Harry feeling a little lighter.

    Unfortunately, Harry hadn’t quite realized that he had to stay with the Dursley’s until term started.


	2. Making Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You'll be fertiliser regardless, might as well have interesting stories for the dirt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Italics"_ is Parseltongue.

    Harry spent the last month with the Dursley’s in utter agony. The knowledge that he would be gone, that he would be _free_ , ate at him every second. The ticket Hagrid had given him weighed heavy on his mind, and he pulled it from his secret hiding spot to gaze at it whenever he had the chance.

    After the debacle with the letters from Hogwarts, he had been moved from the cupboard under the stairs to the spare room near Dudley’s room, which had been home to all the things Dudley had grown tired of. Gifts and presents – many only used once – had been crammed into every available space, and it had taken a few days for Harry to organise the mess so that he had a place to sleep comfortably.

    He tried to act as normal as possible, but he knew his aunt and uncle weren’t fooled. His glee at finally escaping bled into every word, every action. Dudley mostly avoided him, staying out of his way when Harry was doing his chores. On the rare occasions Dudley saw him and no one else was around, he let loose a pitiful squeak and hid in his bedroom until someone called him down for dinner.

    It was a nice change of pace, but Harry felt antsy. He wanted to be gone, wanted to be out of the miserable house he’d been trapped in for eleven years. He spent much of his time reading through his new books, carefully hidden from his aunt and uncle underneath a loose floorboard whenever he heard them tramping up the stairs.

    The day he was to leave finally arrived. He’d already asked Uncle Vernon to drive him to King’s Cross Station, and he was packed and ready to go very early. Excitement thrilled through him as he sat on the end of his bed, waiting patiently for Uncle Vernon to rise.

    The drive was short and silent. Uncle Vernon dropped him off outside the station, not even bothering to help Harry retrieve his things from the car. Harry didn’t mind – he felt as though his things would be tarnished if anyone other than Harry touched them, and Harry wasn’t about to let that happen.

    The station was busy with people, and as Harry made his way towards Platforms 9 and 10, he realized that he hadn’t any idea what to do next. The ticket Hagrid had given him said the train left from Platform 9 ¾, but as far as Harry could see, there wasn’t one.

    Instead of panicking, however, Harry took a breath and studied the people moving around the station. He couldn’t be the _only_ one here headed to Hogwarts…

    “ – _Muggles_ – ”

    Harry whirled around, catching sight of a group of red-headed people. There were six of them – four boys, an older woman, and a young girl. Muggles, he knew from Hagrid’s explanation in the hut, were what wizards and witches called people without magic. It wasn’t much of a leap to assume that the family he was currently following were of the magical variety.

    The seven of them – including Harry – approached the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. He watched quietly as the two twins ran through first, followed by another brother, and then the last brother. The red-headed woman and the girl went through together last.

    It didn’t look particularly difficult. From what he had seen, the six of them had simply run at the barrier without a care in the world. So Harry lined himself up and trotted towards it, doing his best to ignore the screaming in the back of his head that told him he was _running at a solid wall_.

    A blink, and he was through.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Harry fiddled with the wand in his hands, running his fingers over the wood. It had been difficult finding a seat, battling through the crowds to find an empty compartment free of noise and annoyances. A few people had caught sight of him, but on the train he was just another new student to stare at. Because of Harry’s messy hair, no one had seen the scar that so very obviously announced his identity.

    The wand shivered in his hands, and Harry recalled how hard it had been for a wand to choose him. All the wands he had tried had seemed to dislike him – until he’d tried this one.

    Ollivander, the wand maker, had seemed… _worried_ about Harry and the wand, if he really thought about it. Harry wondered if it was a bad thing the wand had chosen him, but dismissed the notion easily. The old man knew nothing about him – there was only so much a wand could say about him, after all.

    The wand emitted a soft hum, golden light spilling across his lap. Harry smiled – maybe he was a wizard, after all. The – _his_ wand certainly seemed to think so, reminding him of a content cat in his lap. He wasn’t sure when he would be free of the doubt currently clouding his mind with whispers, but it didn’t really matter. The doubts _would_ fade, and that was all that mattered.

    Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple… Harry wondered _exactly_ what his wand said about him. He hoped there would be a book or something he could use to satisfy his curiosity on the matter.

    He looked out the window, watching the foggy scenery speed past. He had never really thought of himself as _curious_ , mostly because he’d never been _allowed_ to be curious. He usually just did what he was told, waiting for people – specifically, his aunt and uncle – to let their guards down so he could _do_ something else and not get caught.

    Harry pursed his lips, thoughtful. This was the furthest he’d been from the Dursley’s – maybe he’d grow to miss them. Harry snorted at the thought. _He’d_ miss them when _they_ missed him. In other words – never. If they missed him at all it would only be because he did most of the chores around the house.

     He couldn’t wait to start learning. He had never considered himself particularly smart or motivated – he’d always been one to sit in the back, listening but not really listening. This, though… This was something he could _use_ , something that gave him an edge over Dudley and his silly little gang. He wondered if he’d be able to turn Dudley into a frog – Hagrid had managed to give him a pig’s tail, but maybe that was just because he didn’t have a wand.

    Although, thinking about it, the umbrella _was_ quite suspicious. And Ollivander had warned Hagrid against using his broken wand in a way that made Harry think the huge man had done something similar before. Harry hoped this time Hagrid was smart enough not to get caught – he liked the man, scary as he had first appeared.

    “Are these seats taken?” someone asked, and Harry looked up to see a gangly boy with red hair standing awkwardly in the doorway. Vaguely, Harry recognized him as one of the boys he’d followed to find Platform 9 ¾. “Everywhere else is full.”

    Harry gestured the boy in – maybe this was his chance to make friends. He hadn’t had friends before – Dudley was always very quick to scare them away, and those who had been brave enough had always decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. He offered the other boy a practised smile, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be giving a potential friend the same smile he gave Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when they told him to do the dishes.

    “I’m Ron,” said the red-headed boy. “Ron Weasley.”

    “Harry Potter,” Harry replied.

    Ron gasped. “Harry _Potter_?” he repeated. “Blimey, for real?” He leaned a little closer, until Harry could see the individual freckles on his nose. “Do you have the… you know?”

    He was gesturing to his forehead, and Harry realized what he meant after a moment. “You mean the scar?” he asked bluntly. Ron gave a fearful little nod, and Harry flipped back the mop of his hair with a flourish, a rush of _pride_ making his smile widen as his new friend stared at his forehead. The silver scar was easily visible against his dusky skin.

    “Wow,” said Ron. “That’s cool.” He smiled back at Harry. “Defeating You Know Who when you were a baby – that’s amazing!”

    Hagrid had filled Harry in on his fame in the wizarding world before they’d started shopping for his school supplies, and some gaps had been filled in by the people at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was a little upset he couldn’t remember the thing that had made him into a hero, but he supposed it was a good thing he couldn’t remember his parents dying.

    “You Know Who?” Harry echoed. “I thought his name was Voldemort.”

    Ron turned pale. “You really _are_ brave,” he said. “No one says his name anymore.”

    Harry’s brow furrowed. “Why? I thought he was dead.”

    “He is, but it’s just… I think everyone’s still scared of him. My parents always tell us that he was the greatest Dark Wizard, greater even than Gellert Grindelwald.”

    “It’s not like his name is going to summon him then,” Harry said decisively after a moment. “I don’t think you should be afraid to use it. And I don’t know who that is,” Harry added truthfully.

    Ron looked at him in surprise. “What _do_ you know?” he asked.

    As expected, Harry turned out to know very little about the magical world. What he did know he’d mostly gleaned from the pages of his textbooks. Ron took it upon himself to teach Harry all about Hogwarts. He told Harry about the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, how he was one of the greatest wizards alive.

    He told Harry about the four Houses – the brave Gryffindors, the friendly Hufflepuffs, the clever Ravenclaws, and the Slytherins who, according to Ron’s older brothers, were power-hungry and sly.

    “I’m probably going to be in Gryffindor,” his new friend said, sounding a little miserable. “That’s where all my brothers have gone. Our whole family will probably be in Gryffindor – forever.”

    Harry blinked. “You don’t want to be in Gryffindor?” he asked. He already knew where he wanted to go, just from listening to Ron talk about the Houses. Gryffindor didn’t sound half-bad, even if he thought that maybe, _maybe_ there was a chance that the Gryffindors all ended up being too caught up in the ‘bravery’ aspect of their House to worry about the rest.

    Ravenclaw would be fantastic – if he was at all studious. He’d never really liked sitting for hours, reading and reading (although he had done that a lot in the last month, so maybe he could adjust). Hufflepuffs sounded nice – too nice. Harry wasn’t sure he would fit in – he knew he was awkward and weird. His mind always seemed to work a little differently to everyone else’s.

    Uncle Vernon liked to tell Harry his head was wrong, but Harry stubbornly decided that he wasn’t _wrong_. Just different. Besides, Uncle Vernon wasn’t a very nice person. Not to Harry, anyway. Why should Harry listen to his opinions if he didn’t listen to Harry’s?

    Ron narrowed his blue eyes. “I don’t want to always be in their shadow,” he muttered, and then looked at Harry like he couldn’t believe he just blurted that out.

    “Then don’t,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Be your own person. Your family won’t hate you for being happy, right?” At least, Harry was pretty sure that was how families were _supposed_ to work. His seemed to be the exception to every rule.

    Ron stopped to think about that. “I… I’ve never thought about it like that,” he said, looking at Harry a little wonderingly. “You’re pretty smart.”

    Harry smiled. “Thanks.” There was a squeaking sound coming from Ron’s lap, and Harry frowned. “What’s that?”

    Ron lifted his arms to reveal a very large, very fat rat. “This is Scabbers. He’s been in my family for ages. Did you bring a pet?”

    “I brought a _companion_ ,” Harry replied, smile dropping faster than it had appeared. He really didn’t like that word.

    Ron bit his lip. “Did your p- _family_ buy you a companion? And a wand? I’d love to have my own wand, but mum says Charlie’s will work fine, until…”

    Harry appreciated Ron’s attempt at changing the subject. “No, my family didn’t buy her for me,” he began, but before he could explain they were interrupted.

    “Has anyone seen a toad?” someone else asked from the doorway. Both boys glanced up to see a short girl with a head of bushy brown hair regarding them. “A boy in my compartment’s lost his.”

    “Sorry,” Harry said, shaking his head. “No toad. I think Erus would eat him.” He glanced thoughtfully at Scabbers. “Might want to be careful of him too, actually. Although he might be too big for her to eat.”

    Ron and the girl at the door of their compartment looked at him. “Erus?” they asked together, shooting each other a glance.

    Harry nodded. “My companion,” he explained. _“Erus,”_ he hissed. _“Are you awake?”_

    _“What do you need, speaker?”_ a soft voice hissed back. Harry’s shirt wriggled.

    _“I have some friends I’d like you to meet,”_ Harry replied, although he was a little unsure as to whether the bushy haired girl counted as a ‘friend’. He glanced up at her – he’d never much interacted with girls, and most of those he had met had been boring.

    The girl at the door looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why are you hissing?” she asked.

    Harry felt something in his chest drop. He’d hoped that he’d find others like him, at this school for witches and wizards. Apparently, he’d still be a freak here too.

    Erus, thankfully, emerged a second later. She was a beautiful snake, with her dark zigzagging pattern and her powerful body. _“I am here, speaker.”_

    Harry smiled. “This is Erus,” he explained. “She’s an adder, and she’s my companion. She wouldn’t let me come alone. _Erus, this is Ron and…”_ He trailed off, looking apologetically at the girl. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

    “I’m Hermione Granger,” she replied, eyes wide.

    _“And Hermione,”_ he finished. In the background, he could hear Ron introducing himself to Hermione. _“Say, Erus. Could you help me out?”_

    The snake wriggled further out of his shirt, tongue flicking along his skin. _“What do you ask, speaker?”_

    _“Someone’s lost a toad,”_ Harry explained. _“Can you help us find it? Without eating it, I mean.”_

    Erus slithered out of his sleeve and dropped to the floor. _“I am not hungry anyway, speaker. I will help you find your prey.”_

    “Where’s your snake going?” Ron asked.

    “She said she’ll help us look for the toad,” Harry replied, standing up to follow the snake. He glanced at Ron and Hermione. “Want to come?”

    Hermione looked at him closely. “Can you _really_ speak to snakes?”

    Harry smirked. “Why don’t we follow her and find out?”

    And that was how the three of them found themselves tramping down the train, following Erus as she slithered slowly along. With little else to do, they started talking again. This was how Harry, who was quite obviously very new to all things magical, learnt about blood status.

    “I’m muggleborn,” Hermione said, a challenge in her voice as she stared at the two of them.

    Ron shrugged. “Pureblood. Whole family is Gryffindor. My dad works for the Ministry, he _loves_ muggles and their inventions.”

    That seemed to satisfy the girl for some reason. “And you?” Hermione asked, turning to Harry. “What are you?”

    “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry admitted. He’d gathered that having a family of Muggles was frowned upon – a realization that was prompted by the way Hermione said _muggleborn_.

    She was almost daring them to say something. Harry wasn’t sure if Ron noticed, or if he missed the flash of… _something_ in the girl’s eyes when she said the word. He wondered absently why she was so defensive about being muggleborn – surely it wasn’t _that_ bad.

    Hermione’s face cleared even further. “So you’re a muggleborn too.”

    Ron scoffed. “No. Harry’s a halfblood.”

    “I am?” Harry was honestly quite lost. He understood that the wizarding world seemed to separate themselves into purebloods, halfbloods and muggleborns – but he didn’t see the point. “I mean – does it matter? We can all do magic, right? Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

    He missed the considering look Hermione gave him, and the wondering one Ron gave him, as he almost tripped over the bottom of his robes.

    _“Speaker,”_ Erus hissed. _“I have found the prey you seek.”_

    Harry turned to see her herding a poor, harried looking toad into the corner of an empty compartment. He reached down and snatched the toad from the floor, depositing it into the hands of Hermione. “Here you go,” he said with a smile.

    “Thanks,” she replied, glancing down at the snake. “And thank you, Erus,” she added politely.

    Harry beamed. _“She said thank you,”_ he told the snake. _“I think we will be friends, Erus.”_

    Erus raised herself up, and Harry obligingly let her coil up his arm. _“I will remember their scents, speaker,”_ she replied. _“And make sure that I do not bite them.”_

    Harry deposited her into his pocket. “Erus said you’re welcome.” He threw a glance back at the empty compartment. “I thought you said everywhere was full?” he said to Ron.

    The red-head winced. “Yeah… Sorry. Didn’t exactly fancy sitting by myself – or with my brothers, not that they’d let me sit with them anyway. But I didn’t think – I mean, you could have had other people you were sitting with.”

    Hermione sighed. “It would have been better not to lie,” she said, disapproval clear in her tone. “I must get this back to Neville, thank you for your help.”

    The two boys watched her go. “She’s scary,” Ron muttered.

    “But right,” Harry said. “It _is_ better not to lie. Especially if you want to be friends.”

    Ron blinked. “You… Want to be friends?”

    “Don’t you?” Harry asked, abruptly worried he’d read everything wrong. Maybe Ron didn’t want to be friends with him after all… Maybe he’d just wanted someone to sit with.

    “I – I do, but I lied! I mean, I didn’t actually get down to this one – I didn’t know it was empty.”

    Harry smiled again. His face hurt – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. “Three strikes and you’re out,” he said sunnily, and turned to walk back to their compartment.


	3. Sorting Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You've long seen your downfall spelled out in another's bones._

    “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said, eying the gathered first years from behind her glasses. She was a good deal taller than Aunt Petunia, a fact only made more apparent by the tall hat on her head. Harry thought she looked rather intimidating.

    “The start of term feast will begin shortly – _after_ you’ve been sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are at Hogwarts, your House will become your family.

    “The four Houses,” she continued after a pause, “are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, you will win and lose points based on school events and behaviour. Rule breaking will result in a loss of points – achievements are awarded with points. At the end of the school year, the House with the most points wins the House Cup.

    “The Sorting shall take place momentarily,” Professor McGonagall finished. “Please wait here until I return for you.” She turned and vanished into the Great Hall, her black robes swirling around her feet.

    The first years immediately broke into excited whispering. Harry and Ron glanced at each other – Ron had an eager, slightly terrified smile on his face, and Harry had his carefully excited expression on, a practised look he’d used often at the Dursley’s.

    Only this time, his excitement was real.

    Several of the gathered crowd abruptly screamed or shouted in alarm. Harry spun around, feeling Erus move around his wrist. His mouth almost fell open at the sight that greeted him.

    _Ghosts._ A huge group of them, pale and silvery as they floated towards the first-years. Harry almost laughed – this was all too amazing, too unbelievable. He was expecting to wake up, to find out that this had all been one long dream. He thought, perhaps a little melodramatically, that he’d rather die than wake up.

    Professor McGonagall returned promptly, and after shooing the ghosts, lead Harry and the other first years into the Great Hall. The room was split by four long tables, each proudly bearing the House colours – silver and green for Slytherin, red and gold for Gryffindor, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow and black for Hufflepuff. In front of the already seated students were empty platters.

    At the back of the room was a long table that seated the professors – and the headmaster. Harry caught sight of a long beard and blue robes before Professor McGonagall demanded his attention again.

    She placed a stool in front of the first years, and on that stool she put a worn, ragged wizard hat. Harry heard Ron whisper, “What?” and felt himself unwittingly echoing the sentiment. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the hat, but when Harry glanced at the four long table, everyone was staring at it.

    Waiting.

    Harry turned back and watched in fascination as the ragged old hat abruptly sat up. The rip in its brim split open, and it began to sing.

_“Oh you may not think me pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat than me._  
_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
_And I can cap them all._  
_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
_So try me on and I will tell you_  
_Where you ought to be._  
  
_“You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_  
_Set Gryffindors apart;_  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_  
_And unafraid of toil;_  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_“if you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
_Will always find their kind;_  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
_Those cunning folks use any means_  
_To achieve their ends._  
  
_“So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
_For I'm a Thinking Cap!”_

    Harry glanced at Ron, a grin splitting his face as the hat bowed to the four tables. His new friend returned the smile, and Hermione popped up between them.

    “Have you looked at the ceiling? It’s enchanted to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

    Harry glanced up, and his mouth dropped open in awe. He couldn’t help but stare at the stars that twinkled back at him merrily, so realistic he wondered if there _was_ actually a ceiling above his head. There were candles, too, obviously enchanted to float, but the sky-ceiling took his breath away.

    Harry had, after all, learned to appreciate the little things.

    “What House do you think you’ll be in?” Hermione asked fiercely.

    “Don’t know,” Harry replied absently, still staring up at the ceiling with fascination. It was really the only time he’d seen what magic could do, if he didn’t count Hagrid’s display with Dudley. “Ron doesn’t want Gryffindor.”

    Hermione sniffed. “I can’t imagine getting much study done. I’ve heard the common rooms are notoriously noisy.”

    Ron sighed. “Probably Fred and George’s fault,” he said. “They’re... They _love_ practical jokes and tricks. Growing up with them…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Can’t really blame you for not wanting to go there.”

    “I don’t particularly care for Gryffindor’s values, either,” Hermione added. “Bravery, daring, nerve, chivalry… Sounds like everyone there will be knights in shining armour.”

    “What House do you think you’ll be in, Hermione?” Harry asked. He glanced away from the ceiling to study her. “Ravenclaw?”

    He didn’t think Hermione would be in Ravenclaw, not really. There was something about her that was too… _hard_ , he thought. With her obvious disdain for the Gryffindor House, that left Hufflepuff or Slytherin.

    Hermione hummed thoughtfully, her eyes tracking the moving ceiling. “Maybe,” she replied. She didn’t sound like she wanted to go there, either.

    With any luck, he and his new friends would all end up in the same House. He’d be thankful to have Erus with him, either way – the snake was a comforting presence, coiled up his arm and hidden beneath his robes.

    Professor McGonagall, tall and severe, stepped forward, a roll of parchment in her hands. “When I call your name, please step forward. The Sorting Hat will announce your House – the decision is final.”

    And so it began. Harry watched as the first few students were sorted. It seemed as though the Hat got an instantaneous reading on the students, because most of them barely had the Hat on their heads before it called out their designated House.

    “Granger, Hermione!” Professor McGonagall called, and Hermione strode up to the Hat, a look of grim determination on her face.

    “Mudblood,” someone sneered, the word tasting like a curse, and Harry whirled around to see a boy with platinum blonde hair watching Hermione with a distinct dislike. He wondered at that for a moment before remembering the blood status discussion on the train. The blonde boy must have something against muggleborns, then.

    Hermione’s sorting seemed to take forever. The Hat opened its rim several times, only to close it a moment later. Finally, the Hat seemed to decide, and the rim opened for a final time to shout out its decision.

    “Slytherin!”

    Harry looked at the blonde boy from the corner of his eye, silently amused at the way his eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. He nudged Ron gently and the redhead glanced over. He wasn’t as successful as Harry at hiding his amusement.

    “And what are _you_ laughing at?” the blonde snarled. He gave Ron a quick once over. “Second hand robes, red hair, unkempt appearance – why, you must be a _Weasley_.” The boy turned to sneer at Harry. “Who’s this, then? Another mudblood friend of yours?”

    Ron looked ready to burst, so Harry placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder and gave the blonde boy a friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll find out who I am when I’m sorted, right? Just like I’ll find out who you are.”

    It came out sounding like more of a threat than he intended. Harry had had a bit of practice at being subtle, but he missed the mark today. The blonde boy stiffened, revaluating gaze running over Harry. Harry made his eyes wide and innocent – if he was lucky, the blonde wouldn’t realize that Harry was deadly serious.

    “I suppose I will,” the boy finally said. He gave Harry one more look, eyes cold and hard, and then walked away.

    “Want me to tell you his name?” Ron asked, anger making his voice vibrate. “I know his family pretty well.”

    “Personally? Or by reputation?” Harry replied. Erus moved beneath his robes, her tongue flicking out of his sleeve to taste the air.

    “Reputation,” Ron admitted. “But I’ll bet he and his family deserve every bit of it.”

    “ _That did not smell of ‘friend’, speaker,_ ” she said. “ _I can bite him, yes?_ ”

    Harry smiled. “ _Not just yet,_ ” he replied in a whisper. Only Ron was close enough to hear him hiss the words. “ _We will see._ ”

    Harry was distracted by Professor McGonagall calling a familiar name.

    “Longbottom, Neville.”

    “Do you know him too?” Harry asked, not quite recalling _where_ he’d heard the name.

    Ron nodded. “His family’s a pureblood one, like mine. On the side of the Light, too. But I’ve never met Neville. His parents… Well, it’s not a happy tale.”

    Ron had explained on the train about how the wizarding world was separated into Light and Dark factions. The families who associated with the Light had been against Voldemort, while the Dark families had been with him. There were spells that were considered Dark, and spells that were considered Light, and the majority of Dark spells were illegal in Britain - anyone caught practicing them was sent to Azkaban.

    So far, Harry had pieced together that the Weasley family, the Longbottom family, and Professor Dumbledore were on the side of the Light. The Dark side seemed to have a lot more supporters, if the fact that everyone in Slytherin was automatically considered Dark counted. The real question was why there still needed to be sides - Voldemort had been defeated, but the war seemed to still be going. It was very confusing.

    “He’s the owner of the toad we found,” Harry said quietly, realizing where he had heard the name before. He watched the nervous boy stumble up to the Hat, his toad clutched in his hands. “Wonder where he’ll go.”

    “Probably Hufflepuff,” Ron replied.

    The Hat’s rim opened. “Gryffindor!” it shouted.

    Harry grinned, patting a surprised Ron on the back. “I don’t expect you to know everything.”

    “I guess you really can’t judge people on their appearance,” Ron muttered.

    Harry shrugged. “Let them think what they want. It’s much more fun to let people guess.”

    Ron didn’t get a chance to reply, because Professor McGonagall called out another name.

    “Malfoy, Draco!”

    “Looks like I don’t need you to tell me,” Harry pointed out, watching as the blonde boy waltzed over to the hat, confidence pouring off him. The Hat barely touched the tips of his hair before it was shouting the result.

    “Slytherin!”

    “No surprises there,” Ron muttered. “His whole family is Dark, suspected of being Death Eaters.”

    More names were being called, but Harry was more interested in what his friend was saying. “Death Eaters?” Harry echoed quietly.

    Ron smacked himself. “I forget you don’t know these things. Death Eaters are what we called You Know Who’s followers. Most of them are in Azkaban. It’s the wizarding prison,” he added, anticipating Harry’s question.

    “Oh,” Harry replied simply. He didn't bother telling Ron that he already knew about Azkaban, because it was fair to assume that Harry hadn't known. Harry had found the prison mentioned in one of his books.

    “Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall called.

    The entire hall fell silent for what felt like an eternity. And then the whispers started.

    “Did she say _Potter_?”

    “The boy who lived?”

    “He’s come to Hogwarts?”

    “Where is he?”

    “I can’t see him!”

    Harry felt like jumping and saying “Here! Here I am!” Having people _notice_ him for once in his life… It was invigorating. He stepped forward, grinned at Ron, and walked up to the Sorting Hat. He turned and took a seat, staring out at the sea of faces looking. At him. It was glorious, if a little unnerving.

    “Harry Potter,” said a voice in his head. It took him a moment to realize it was the Hat, speaking directly to him. “Nice to finally meet you.”

    “You as well,” Harry replied politely.

    The Hat laughed. “So polite… Very clever, too. Plenty of bravery. You’re rather loyal as well. Such a challenge… I do love a challenge.”

    “Can I make a request?” Harry asked. Because he’d read somewhere that it never hurt to ask, although sometimes that wasn’t the case at the Dursley’s. But the Hat didn’t have any way to hurt him that Harry could see, so Harry thought he’d be fine.

    The Hat seemed surprised. “Not many think to make requests, Mr Potter. What do you think you want?”

    Harry smiled at that. “I want to be in Slytherin,” he told the Hat. “I don’t _think_ I want anything – I know where I want to go.”

    “Indeed,” the Hat hummed. “If I put you into Slytherin… Yes, that’s a good fit. I think I would have put you there, even without your request… Slytherin can make you great, greater than great even – if you are willing to give up certain things in exchange. Everything has a price. Are you certain of your choice, Harry Potter?”

    “Yes,” Harry said simply.

    “Well then. Slytherin!” it shouted aloud, and Professor McGonagall took the Hat off his head. He walked down to the green and silver table, taking a seat beside Hermione and ignoring the blonde – Malfoy – burning a hole in the side of his head.

    “Interesting,” Hermione said to him. “I had you pegged as a Gryffindor before Slytherin.”

    Harry shrugged, watching as a few more students were sorted. “I asked to be here,” he told her distractedly. He caught sight of Ron, who was looking considerably paler than earlier, and gave him a supportive smile.

    “You _asked_?” Hermione repeated, sounding bewildered. “Why did you ask?”

    Harry shrugged. “Because I wanted to be here.”

    “Weasley, Ronald!” Professor McGonagall called.

    Ron tripped his way up the stairs, taking a seat. He swallowed visibly when the Hat was lowered onto his head. Harry crossed his fingers, and felt Erus tightening her coils a little.

    He wasn’t sure who was more surprised when the Hat called out “Slytherin!” barely a moment later. Ron looked like he’d just been punched in the stomach – a look Harry was intimately familiar with – and the entire Slytherin table seemed… Shocked into stillness.

    Harry brought his hands together in a slow, solid clap. Hermione followed his lead, smirking a little as the rest of their table slowly started to applaud. Harry glanced down the Gryffindor table, easily spotting three redheads. Their jaws had all dropped, eyes wide as they watched their youngest brother make his way to the Slytherin table.

    There were a few more people to go, but Harry stopped paying attention as Ron took a seat at his side. He still looked a little shell-shocked, but he grinned at Harry.

    “Be my own man, right?” he said weakly. He hadn’t even glanced at the Gryffindor table.

    Harry grinned back. “I had my fingers crossed for you. Erus showed her support too – I’m going to have a mark on my arm from where she was squeezing so tight.”

    When the last student was sorted, the old man at the table with a long silver beard – Professor Dumbledore, Harry recalled, the greatest wizard to ever live – rose to his feet, and a hush fell over the Great Hall. He smiled out at the four tables, his eyes twinkling merrily when they landed on Harry.

    "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

    He sat back down, and the hall erupted with applause and cheering. Harry tilted his head, but clapped along gamely. Ron was snickering at his side. In front of them, the previously empty platters filled with food, more food than Harry had ever seen in his life.

    There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.

    Ron didn’t hesitate to dig in, filling his plate with as much food as he could get his hands on. Hermione took a moment to study the platters with interest before filling her own plate.

    _“Speaker?”_ Erus hissed. _“I smell food.”_

    _“There’s so much,”_ Harry replied, a little lost. _“What do I eat?”_

    _“Whatever you like,”_ Erus said. _“They are not here to stop you.”_

    And indeed, that was true. Harry carefully reached some sausages, knowing that he rather liked sausages but relatively unsure about some of the other things. Some he only knew by name, never having had them himself.

    They were halfway through the meal when Hermione cleared her throat. “I hope you both know we’re going to have a _lovely_ time here,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. “A muggleborn, a blood traitor, and the boy who lived… Seems to me we’d best watch each other’s backs.”

    “I’d be more worried about yourself,” Ron replied. “You’ll be alone with the girls.” He nodded down the table to where most of the Slytherin girls were seated, whispers scurrying down the length of the table like so many mice.

    Harry had become very good at killing mice. It was how he and Erus had met, coincidentally.

    “We’ll be fine,” he said, loud enough for his voice to be heard by their entire table. “After all, this is our family now. And family… Well.” He turned to smile at the other Slytherins, the expression not quite _right_. It was his favourite expression, because it always managed to make people very uncomfortable. “Family looks after each other. We’re all snakes, as of this moment.”

    Ron gave a shaky laugh when the rest of the first year Slytherins looked away. “You know, you’re a little scary, Harry.”

    “Only when I want to be,” Harry replied easily, giving his friend a smile. “So I think your concerns are unfounded, Hermione,” he continued, looking at the girl, “but if you want some protection, I’d be happy to ask Erus to keep an eye on you.”

    Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. “Thank you for the offer,” she said at length, “but I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

    The puddings – which Harry had not touched – disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore rose again. As it had before, the Great Hall grew silent, chatter dying off as everyone turned to look at the headmaster.

    “Ahem – just a few more words now you are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

    “First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore looked almost pointedly at the Gryffindor table, and Ron muttered something about his brothers.

    “I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

    “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

    “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

    Harry didn’t laugh, although there were a few who did. There was something terribly serious in Professor Dumbledore’s voice, and his eyes weren’t twinkling. Harry wondered why something that could kill them was being kept in the castle at all.

    “And now, before you go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Professor Dumbledore said, twinkle back in his eye and a smile on his face. “Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go.”

    Harry didn’t actually know the school song, but he listened with raised eyebrows as most of the school began singing. It was difficult, because everyone sang at a different pace, and everyone finished at different times. Hermione was muttering the words to herself beside him, and he made a note to ask her about it later.

    When the last people finished – Harry was unsurprised to see it was the Weasley twins who sang the song longest, to the tune of a funeral march – Professor Dumbledore was one of those who clapped the loudest.

    “Ah, music,” he said. “A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

    Harry didn’t quite agree with him – music was nice, yes, but magic? Magic was _better_. And he could do it. Not Dudley, not Uncle Vernon, not any of the bullies who’d sneered at his messy hair and broken his glasses. _Him_.

    He felt like laughing as he followed the rest of his housemates to their common room. But he made do with a smile.


	4. A Real Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The body is rot waiting to happen._

    When they had all paraded down to their common room, which was down in the dungeons, the Slytherin Head – a tall, sullen looking man with black hair and a smile that never quite reached his eyes – introduced himself as Professor Snape. He seemed to dislike Harry for a reason he couldn’t fathom, and he made the scar on Harry’s forehead tingle every time their eyes met.

    The scar had never bothered Harry like this before – it was always just something to cover up, something that marked him as different and a _freak_ like Dudley hissed. But now, with the tingles being just shy of painful… Harry thought it best to pay attention to it.

    “Slytherin is a noble House, and I expect each and every one of you,” here, his eyes landed on Ron and Harry, “to uphold the values upon which this House was founded.”

    “Hard to do that with a _mudblood_ here,” Harry heard someone – probably Malfoy – mutter.

    Ron made to swivel around, but Harry caught his shoulder. “Don’t,” he whispered, squeezing his friend’s shoulder once before quickly dropping his hand. They didn’t need to give Professor Snape another reason to dislike them – even if they didn’t know _why_ he disliked them in the first place. Harry was willing to bet it was something more complicated than blood status.

    “I will not hesitate to discipline those who require it,” again, those dark eyes landed on Harry and Ron, “but I will not be unfair. Should you need any help, you are welcome to seek me out. If I am unavailable, speak to the Prefects – Miss Travers and Mr Rowl. They should be able to answer any questions you may have, and if they cannot, I most certainly can.

    “I am the Potions Master of this school, and as such I will be teaching you the art of potion making. Do not mistake me – if you misbehave in my class, you will be disciplined.” Harry wasn’t even surprised when Professor Snape looked at him again. “You will receive your class schedules tomorrow morning at breakfast. Curfew is at 10.00pm – no one should be wandering the halls after that time.”

    Professor Snape stalked towards the common room entrance, pausing long enough to say “Welcome to Slytherin,” before he swept from the common room.

    Harry watched as the Prefects immediately stepped forward. “Professor Snape’s office is adjacent to the Potions classroom, so I trust you will all be able to find it easily should the need arise,” Mr Rowl drawled. Harry found his voice distinctly unpleasant.

    “We Prefects will endeavour to be available for you at any time,” Miss Travers continued, “but we will be unavailable during class times. If you can’t find us, ask an older Slytherin.”

    “And under no circumstances are you to become friends with anyone from Gryffindor,” Mr Rowl said, voice suddenly sharp and hard.

    Miss Travers sighed. “Really, Edward. You need to stop that.” She smiled brightly at the gathered first years. “Ignore him. As Professor Snape said, curfew is at 10.00pm. You have an hour and a half before you must be in your dorm room.”

    The two Prefects turned and left, joining up with a larger group of older students. Harry watched as a few of the first years drifted away to find their rooms and contemplated joining them, but Ron nudged him to get his attention. He and Hermione had spied a group of empty chairs on the other side of the common room, away from everyone else and close to one of the fires, and the three of them made their way over to them.

    The common room was a large, square room decorated with the Slytherin colours of silver and green. There were several rather grand fireplaces made from white marble, and the stone floor was covered with thick green rugs. The seating was also elegant – black and green leather sofas and chairs were arranged throughout the space. There were lamps scattered around the common room, and several large glass windows that looked out into – darkness? Harry squinted. Were the windows looking out at the lake they’d sailed across to get to Hogwarts?

    He, Ron and Hermione had taken over one of the groups of chairs and sofas, but there were several others scattered around the common room. Harry sank into the comfortable leather sofa, marvelling at how _nice_ it felt. Aunt Petunia’s couch – the one that he was allowed to sit on – was horrible and lumpy, and every time Harry sat on it he managed to get a spring poking into his bottom.

    They were not the only three to have separated into their own group, but they were apparently the most noticed one. There were a few of the older students who gave them a look that spoke of how much they disliked the three first years being there. Hermione didn’t seem to care as she took one of the chairs to herself, while Ron seemed oblivious as he flopped onto the sofa beside Harry.

    “I’m surprised at how homely they’ve managed to make a dungeon,” Ron commented, looking around with avid eyes. “The lighting… We must be under the lake. I wonder how many times we’ll see the giant squid swim past.”

    “Probably enough times to get bored of it,” Hermione replied. She had a book – she’d been carrying it all during the ceremony, now that Harry thought about it – in her lap that she was studying with interest. Every now and then, she turned a page.

    “What else lives in the lake?” Harry asked, sensing an argument brewing. He resisted the urge to pout – he didn’t want his new friends to fight, so a distraction was necessary.

    Ron looked at him with a frown, and Harry wondered if Ron could read his mind. “Merpeople,” Ron said. “I think there’s fish in there too. Other watery creatures.”

    “Merpeople?” Harry repeated, fascinated. More things from legends made real – perhaps he would find out that unicorns were real, or maybe even dragons. “Really?”

    Hermione turned another page. “Grindylows live there, too,” she added almost absently.

    Harry tilted his head – he hadn’t heard of a Grindylows. “What’s that?”

    “ _They’re_ nasty little water demons,” Hermione explained. “The Merpeople keep them as pets.”

    “ _Speaker,_ ” Erus hissed, the tip of her nose peeking out from beneath his robes. “ _I am hungry._ ”

    Harry blinked in surprise. The snake had been so uncharacteristically quiet that he had almost forgotten she was still with him. “ _Will you be hunting today? Or would you like me to find something?_ ” Harry asked. “ _I have some mice in my trunk._ ”

    The snake quietly considered, her tongue brushing against his skin. “ _Trunk mice will do,_ ” she said finally. “ _But my next meal should be fresh._ ”

    Harry nodded. “ _Of course._ ”

    “If it isn’t the famous _Potter_ ,” someone drawled, and Harry remembered that he was not alone, and that he was not, necessarily, safe. He glanced up, noticing the way Ron’s eyes had narrowed, how Hermione’s fingers were no longer playing absently with the corners of the pages of her book.

    “Well,” Harry replied, swivelling slowly to glance up at – unsurprisingly – Malfoy. He was flanked by two rather hulking boys. Harry took a moment to notice that they reminded him of Dudley – they both looked like bullies, and there was a light missing in their eyes – before he continued. “Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise. I’m afraid I don’t know the names of your… _bodyguards_.”

    Malfoy barely bristled – it seemed he knew how to take an insult. Either that, or it was a swing and a miss on Harry’s part. He _did_ , however, go a little pink, too pale to really go red. “Crabbe,” he said, gesturing to the boy on his left, “and Goyle. I already know Weasley and the mudblood.”

    Harry sensed Ron move. He stopped his friend quickly, tilting his head as he regarded Malfoy. “Lovely as this chat has been,” Harry began, glancing to his left to see Hermione hadn’t moved, watching with a dark expression in her eyes, “what do you want?”

    Malfoy sneered. “Your little speech at the table meant _nothing_. I just wanted to warn you that you won’t be safe here. You’re not really a snake. You don’t _belong_ here.”

    Harry had spent most of his life being told he didn’t belong. Being told he was useless, a waste of space. Unwanted and unneeded. Most times, he’d believed it. This time, though, the words rang false. This was where he was meant to be, this was the place he’d always been missing.

    He opened his mouth to say so, but Hermione beat him to it.

    “On the contrary,” Hermione said, still sitting. She appeared the least threatening of them all, but Harry noticed the way her hands had moved again. He’d be willing to bet his new-found money that Hermione had her wand pointed at Malfoy – he’d be willing to bet even more money that she, unlike him, _knew_ spells. “He’s more of a snake than you.”

    _That_ got under Malfoy’s skin. “How _dare_ you, mudblood!” the other boy hissed. The entire room seemed to darken. People who were previously pretending not to be involved moved into subtle positions to stare – or help. Harry could tell exactly who had the most backing in the room, and it wasn’t Hermione.

    Or him, for that matter.

    Malfoy was still talking – yelling, really. “My family has been pure for longer than yours has existed,” he said, pale blue eyes glittering with malice. “Our magic is old, not sullied with the blood of inferiors, and our name holds weight in this world! You are _nothing_!”

    Hermione smiled, and it was _not_ a nice smile. Harry liked it. “Can you speak Parseltongue?”

    The room went deathly silent. “What are you talking about?” someone asked weakly. “The Dark Lord is the only Parselmouth – and he’s _gone_.”

    ‘Gone’ – not dead. A very distinct difference. Harry felt the scar on his forehead throb for a second, and Erus gently squeezed his arm. Perhaps everyone was wrong... Perhaps...

    Hermione ignored the other person, looking straight at Malfoy. “Are you a Parselmouth? Because Harry is.”

    Harry almost blurted out “What’s a Parselmouth?”, but Ron nudged him quickly. His ignorance would not help this situation, he realized, and so Harry settled his expression into a bored mask.

    Malfoy scoffed. “Prove it,” he said, somewhat predictably. Even Harry, who wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, saw it coming.

    “Harry? Why don’t you introduce everyone to Erus?”

    _This isn’t what I thought having friends would be like,_ Harry mused. But he didn’t really mind – he had the whole room’s attention, and it made him smile. They could _see_ him, and they weren’t throwing things at him. It was a decidedly nice change.

    He raised the arm Erus was coiled around, and his sleeve dropped away to reveal her in her entirety. A few of the Slytherins leapt back in alarm when Erus shifted, hissing loudly at the room in general. It was a wordless noise, purely threatening.

    “ _Sorry, Erus,_ ” he said, fighting the urge to grin all over again because the Slytherins were _reacting_ to him speaking to Erus. Some of them had grown very pale indeed. “ _Hermione wanted a show. She thinks the Slytherins are going to turn on us. I’m not entirely sure how this is supposed to help…_ ”

    “ _I quite like the excitement, speaker,_ ” Erus hissed back. “ _Too many times, you told me not to bite the other humans who smelled like enemies. Do I get to bite these ones, speaker?_ ”

    Harry couldn’t help it – he laughed, bright and loud. “ _I asked you not to bite Dudley because I would definitely get in trouble for it,_ ” he said. “ _But soon… Soon you’ll be allowed to bite him._ ”

    Erus practically wriggled in delight. She moved, slithering up his arm to coil loosely around his neck. Her scales were smooth against his skin. “ _This is why I like you, speaker._ ”

    Harry dropped his arm, smiling at the room. “This is Erus,” he said helpfully. “She’s an adder, and she’s venomous.” His smile turned into a smirk as several people – including Malfoy – took another step back. “I’d _hate_ for anything to happen to any of you… My new family…”

    Ron laughed. “Don’t be scared, Malfoy,” he said mockingly. “You’ll be _safe_ here. After all, you’re a snake.”

    “Your family has been pure for longer than mine has existed,” Hermione added, almost gleefully. “And you aren’t a Parselmouth? You must, of course, realize that Harry here is _only_ a halfblood. So tell me, Master Malfoy: who in this room is the real snake?”


	5. Three Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We don't know where you came from, but we need you to go back._

    It was clear that by the time they were told it was time for bed, Harry, Ron and Hermione weren’t going to bother with making more friends. Harry wasn’t sure about the other two, but he was rather content with his two new friends and Erus. Never having had any real friends himself, he was determined to keep Ron and Hermione. Having more friends seemed counterproductive to that goal.

    He and Ron wished Hermione a good night, with Harry offering Erus’ presence again. Hermione told them both that she would be fine, and together Ron and Harry made their way up to their dorm room. They appeared to be sharing with one other boy, given that there were only three beds in the room, and at the end of each sat a trunk.

    The other boy in their room was already asleep, his green curtains pulled around his bed so that Harry and Ron couldn’t disturb him. Sharing a look, the two boys shrugged and moved to their own beds. Erus slithered onto the bed, inspecting the length of it as Harry changed into his sleeping clothes and retrieved a mouse for Erus from his trunk.

    Harry’s bed was soft and comfortable. He spent a good hour simply marvelling in the way the bed cradled his body, Erus resting on his chest as she hissed her pleasure. But he knew he would have to wake up in the morning, and so he let himself fall asleep, a small smile on his face.

    The next morning was tense. Harry and Ron ended up sharing a room with a dark-skinned boy Ron called ‘Zabini’ – Harry assumed that Zabini was the other boy’s last name. Zabini hardly spared them a glance as he disappeared from the dormitory before either Ron or Harry were really out of bed.

    Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “This is going to be tougher than I thought,” he said. He looked as though he’d hardly slept.

    Harry, on the other hand, didn’t think he’d ever slept so well. He glanced up at Ron. “We’ll be fine,” he replied. Erus was stretched out on his pillow, blinking at the two of them almost lazily. Her stomach was still a little fat with the mouse Harry had fed her that evening. “Although I am worried about Hermione.”

    “You think she’ll be in trouble?”

    “I’m worried because I think she’ll have cursed someone. I don’t want her getting in trouble so soon.” Harry shook his head. “Just because her parents are muggles, there’s no need for people to be so rude.”

    Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You think she’ll _curse_ someone? You know we don’t learn that stuff for _years_ , right?”

    Erus spoke up. “ _Your female is smart._ _She will not be hasty, speaker._ ”

    Harry frowned at her. “ _I’ve asked this before, but how much do you actually understand?_ ”

    The snake flicked her tongue out at him, slithering down to Harry’s side. “ _I understand enough,_ ” she replied simply, winding herself up his arm.

    “Anyway,” Ron said, “we’d best go down. Breakfast soon.”

    Breakfast was a tense affair, but the atmosphere hardly bothered Harry – Hermione sat with them, her hands already filled with class schedules. She handed one to Ron, and one to Harry. Hers was already highlighted, annotated and creased, as though the witch had spent the better part of the morning folding and unfolding it.

    “Thank you,” Harry said, eagerly looking over his schedule.

    “We have most of our classes with Ravenclaw,” Hermione told them. Harry made a thoughtful noise – getting on the good side of a Ravenclaw could improve their results in their classes, if they weren’t up to the task themselves. “And we have Potions with Gryffindor.”

    Ron bit into a sausage. “At least we don’t have classes with other years,” he muttered. “What do we have first?” he asked, speaking with his mouth full.

    “Potions,” Harry replied. Hermione was looking at Ron in disgust as he shoved even more food into his mouth. “Then Herbology with Ravenclaw, Charms with Hufflepuff and then Transfiguration, which is just us.”

    Harry scoured his timetable to see what other classes they had. History of Magic with Professor Binns was to be taken with Ravenclaw. Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by Professor Quirrell, and Astronomy, taught by Professor Sinistra, were both classes they shared with no one.

    “We have Potions with Professor Snape, Herbology with Professor Sprout, Charms with Professor Flitwick, and Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall,” Hermione added after a pause.

    Ron nodded. “I think Professor Snape will be our main concern,” he said. “He doesn’t seem to like me. Or Harry. What’s all that about?”

    Harry shrugged, helping himself to some toast. He watched Ron pile his plate for a second time and glanced down at his single slice. Was it too little? Or did Ron just eat a lot? For a long moment, Harry considered adding some eggs to his plate, but he knew from experience that if he ate too much, he’d be sick.

    “How would I know?” he asked, biting into his toast. “Do you know any other professors?”

    Hermione spoke up again, because Ron’s mouth was full again. “We met Professor McGonagall already – I’ve heard she’s quite strict. Professor Flitwick is lovely – I already spoke to him this morning before breakfast.”

    Ron raised an eyebrow. “Sprout’s apparently alright. Really into plants though.”

    “That would be why she’s the Herbology teacher,” Harry muttered, eyes glued to his schedule. Erus moved under his robes, her body coiled down his arm. He could feel her tongue gently brushing along the back of his hand. “I met Professor Quirrell in the Leaky Cauldron,” he added. “He seemed nice, if a little odd.”

    That wasn’t quite true – there had been _something_ , the faint trace of it making the hair on Harry’s arms stand on end and his scar tingle. The stutter had thrown Harry off, and he wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel even more unsettled. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it to his new friends, though, so he left it alone.

    “Is that all you’re eating, Harry?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowed as she stared at the slice of toast Harry was finishing.

    Harry blinked at her. “Yes?” he replied. “I’m full.”

    “How are you _full_?” Ron demanded loudly. “You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

    “I’ve had enough,” Harry explained, not really seeing the problem. An entire slice of toast? It was enough.

    “Harry…” Hermione began, sounding reproachful.

    Harry snapped his head to look her dead in the eyes. “ _I’ve had enough,_ ” he repeated, his voice sharp. He leaned back, letting his face relax. “It’s not a big deal,” he assured her. “I’ll probably be hungry at dinner.”

    Hermione regarded him silently for a moment. “Alright,” she said. Then she turned to Ron. “How can you eat so _much_?”

    Ron shrugged. “I’m a growing boy,” he replied through a mouthful of food.

    “That’s disgusting,” Hermione told him flatly. Harry couldn’t help but agree.

    “ _Your enemies approach, speaker,_ ” Erus hissed.

    Harry glanced up reflectively, and saw Malfoy striding towards him. Crabbe and Goyle were at his side, and behind them stalked Zabini, looking thoroughly unconcerned. “Incoming,” Harry muttered.

    “Potter,” Malfoy sneered. “Where’s your _pet_ today? Sleeping in the dorms?”

    Harry blinked, lip curling in disgust when he realized who Malfoy meant. “Erus isn’t my pet,” he replied, revolted by the idea. “She’s a free creature. She can leave anytime she wants to.”

    Malfoy scoffed. “She’s your pet, Potter, not your _friend_.”

    “Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron snapped.

    “Like you’d know anything about friendship,” Hermione added.

    “I know enough to realize that a snake can’t be anyone’s friend,” Malfoy said with a sneer. “She’s just a dumb animal who doesn’t know any better.”

    Erus moved around Harry’s arm, her body vibrating with a sound that was too low for the people gathered to hear. The thought that she could _understand_ the hurtful things Malfoy was saying about her…

    Harry stood up. “ _Erus, the next time Malfoy annoys me, you have my permission to mock attack him,_ ” he spat, hearing Erus hiss in response. “ _After that, you can bite him.”_

    He glared at Malfoy. “Three strikes, Malfoy,” he muttered, realizing as he looked at the other boy that Malfoy was taller than him. It wouldn’t matter – Harry wasn’t the same boy who had left London. He had magic singing through his veins, and now he could hear it. “Three strikes, and you’re out. _This_ is strike two.”

    He stepped forward, and the four boys unconsciously moved out of his way. Harry didn’t wait for another second – he swept from the Slytherin table, schedule held tightly in one hand. The other hand was clenched around his wand – he couldn’t quite recall when he’d gotten it out, but the feel of it in his hand was comforting all the same.

    “That’s right, Potter!” he heard Malfoy call after him. “Run away!”

    _“Was that the third strike, speaker?”_

    _“Yes,”_ Harry snarled back, the word sharp and dangerous on his tongue. Normally, such a little thing wouldn’t have counted, and he was sure that later he would regret being so hasty. But Malfoy had attacked _Erus_ , his beautiful snake and faithful friend. Harry did not feel like giving Malfoy another chance.

    _“Was it an annoyance?”_ Erus coiled around his arm more tightly, tongue flicking against his skin in excitement.

    Harry didn’t get a chance to reply, because someone stepped in front of him. Harry looked up to see Professor Snape regarding him with cold black eyes. This close, it was easy to see how greasy the professor’s hair was, and how pale his skin was.

    “Mr Potter,” he said, voice curling around his last name and making it sound unpleasant.

    Harry tried to keep his tone even. “Professor Snape.”

    “I trust you enjoyed breakfast.” Professor Snape’s eyes flickered down to the wand Harry had forgotten he still had in his hand.

    “The food was delicious, professor,” Harry replied. He was tempted to add ‘better than anything I ever had with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’, but suspected that Professor Snape wouldn’t care. “Can I help you, professor?” he asked instead, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

    Before Professor Snape could respond, Harry heard the sound of someone trotting towards him. “Harry!” Ron called. “Harry, are you alright? Malfoy was out of line, the little – _Professor Snape_!”

    Harry sighed. “I’m _fine_ ,” he said to Ron. “It’s just…” He trailed off, glancing back at Professor Snape. “Did you need something, professor?” he asked.

    _“Can I bite the enemy, speaker?”_

    Professor Snape snapped his eyes down to Harry’s sleeve. “What,” he began, voice very soft, “was that?”

    Harry tilted his head. “That was Erus.” He didn’t really see the point in lying, especially when he knew the professor didn’t like him. Better to give him something to hate, something tangible, rather than leave the professor with whatever he hated Harry for right now.

    Besides, he was sure that someone was bound to tell Professor Snape that he had a snake for a companion.

    “And who, may I enquire, is _Erus_?”

    Harry felt his lip curling, not quite able to forget Malfoy’s words so quickly. As a result, his tone was sharp and angry when he replied, “She’s my friend.”

    Professor Snape looked unruffled. “Don’t take that tone with me, Potter, or I’ll be taking points for your lack of respect. Clearly a family trait.”

    Ron frowned. “Did you know Harry’s parents, professor?”

    Professor Snape’s dark eyes turned to Ron, who swallowed visibly. “Indeed,” he drawled. “And I’ve come to know your brothers, Mr Weasley, so I would be very careful if I was you.”

    _“Speaker,”_ Erus said, insistent. _“Can I bite the pale one?”_

    Harry sighed. He crouched down, placing his palm on the floor. _“Don’t bite. Scare.”_

    Erus slithered out onto the stone floor. _“May I bite him if he steps on me?”_

    _“As long as he intends to. It doesn’t count if you stick your tail in his way when he’s walking.”_

    _“Yes, speaker,”_ the snaked replied, vanishing into the shadows.

    Harry stood and looked calmly at Professor Snape, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Ron was gaping at him, as though he’d done something both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. Which he probably had. But he couldn’t just _let_ Malfoy get away with what he’d said, couldn’t let the other boy think Harry was the perfect target.

    Harry was tired of being the perfect target.

    Not to mention, Harry thought he'd found out _why_ Professor Snape didn’t like him. If he had to guess from Professor Snape’s action and reactions, he would have to say that his father had, perhaps, been a bully… With Professor Snape as his target. Harry pursed his lips, deciding to think on it later.

    “If that was everything, professor,” Harry said calmly, “we have class now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone, and a Happy New Year!


	6. Potions Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the end there is no blaze of glory._

    Professor Snape sent him a searching look before turning and sweeping away, striding in the direction of the dungeons. Harry and Ron watched his back – Ron’s mouth hanging open and Harry’s expression blank.

    “Blimey,” Ron finally whispered. “That was brave.”

    “That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen anyone do,” Hermione announced as she appeared beside Harry. On his other side, Ron sent her a glare.

    Harry shook his head, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I doubt it,” he said. “Just watch Crabbe or Goyle for five minutes and you’ll see something stupider.”

    Ron snorted while Hermione’s mouth ticked up into a reluctant smile. “He’ll know it was you,” she pointed out. The way she said it made Harry think that she thought he’d asked Erus to bite Malfoy. An understandable mistake, given how angry Harry had been, but a mistake nonetheless.

    “He’ll know what was me?” Harry asked, blinking innocently. “As far as Professor Snape is aware, I sent Erus to the Forbidden Forest to find a unicorn.”

    He didn’t point out that she had no idea what he’d asked Erus to do either, but he honestly didn’t think he had to. It was almost insulting that Hermione thought so little of him, and Harry briefly wondered whether he’d made a mistake. Perhaps she truly wasn’t friend material…

    “Harry’s got a point – he doesn’t speak to snakes,” Ron said.

    Hermione gave them a look. “When Malfoy doesn’t show up for class, he’ll know,” she replied simply, and strode into the Potions classroom ahead of the two of them.

    Ron winced. “Now she has a point.” He sounded oddly apologetic.

    Harry shrugged. “Malfoy will come to class,” he said neutrally, deciding not to be hasty when it came to Hermione. “There’s no reason for him not to, after all.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

    When Draco Malfoy finally made it to class, he looked far paler than usual. He also refused to make eye contact with anyone, walking quickly to the front of the class and speaking quietly to an annoyed looking Professor Snape.

    Harry was stirring his potion, counting in his head, when he felt Erus slither up his leg. He didn’t visibly react, and she settled around his throat, peeking down at his and Ron’s cauldron. The potion was bubbling away merrily, with Harry stirring the potion as per the instructions Professor Snape had directed them to read.

    Hermione, unfortunately, had been paired with Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl who seemed about as happy with the placement as Hermione did. At least Harry didn’t have to be worried about Lavender ruining Hermione’s potion – not only would it negatively affect Lavender, the girl was a Gryffindor. She probably saw actions like that as dishonourable.

    _“What is this, speaker?”_ Erus asked, distracting Harry from his thoughts.

    _“A potion,”_ Harry replied softly. Ron glanced at him, caught sight of Erus, and slid his eyes back to the front of the room. Harry sighed at the action. “Could you be any more obvious?” he asked his friend.

    Ron jerked back to look at him. “What do you mean?”

    “The look on your face practically screams you’re pleased about this,” Harry whispered back, adding the next ingredient on the list. The potion was almost done, and going quite nicely. Harry had been surprised when Professor Snape had allowed them to try brewing a potion in their first lesson, but maybe it was a way for him to sort the students into those who could and those who couldn’t. “You can’t react like you know what’s happening, or they’ll know it was you.”

    “But it _wasn’t_ me,” Ron pointed out, dropping the first horned slug into the bubbling cauldron. “It was Erus.”

    Harry had to hand it to his friend – at least he hadn’t said it was _Harry_. “Do you think Professor Snape would just – Ron, we have to add the porcupine quills next. Have you added all the slugs?”

    “Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said, voice curling around Harry’s name in a manner that was becoming irritatingly familiar. “I would like a word with you.”

    Harry looked up at him, his expression pleasant even as he caught sight of Malfoy glaring daggers at him from behind Professor Snape. “Of course, professor. Right now, or do you want me to finish the potion?”

    _“This one does not like you, speaker. He stinks of hatred.”_

    Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from replying. Professor Snape’s eyes flicked down to Erus before returning his gaze to Harry’s face. “You will come with me after class. For now, Mr Malfoy will be joining you and Mr Weasley. You can catch him up on anything he’s missed.”

    Ron made a noise of protest, but Harry smiled and stomped – lightly – on his friend’s foot. “We can do that, professor.”

    “I should hope so, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape responded, before turning and stalking back to the front of the classroom, obviously checking on everyone’s potion as he did so.

    The second he was out of earshot, Malfoy turned to glare at Harry. “You’re in so much trouble,” he hissed. “When my father hears about this –”

    “This potion is the Cure for Boils,” Harry interrupted. “We’re almost finished, but you can help me with this last part. I can talk you through the steps we took, or you can take a look at Ron’s notes. Which would you prefer?”

    Malfoy stared at him, but Harry focused on the potion in front of him. He couldn’t afford to get angry again, not with Professor Snape watching him like a hawk. Even if he couldn’t see the professor, Harry could feel his gaze. Ron was tense at his side, hands curled into fists.

    Finally, Malfoy sneered. “I can’t read that scrawl, Weasley. Did your mother not have the time to teach you to write? Must be difficult, with so many to look after. I’m surprised you weren’t forgotten entirely.”

    Erus hissed, rearing up from around Harry’s neck. Immediately, Harry raised his hand, pressing his fingers gently against her snout.

    _“But speaker,”_ she hissed petulantly.

    _“No,”_ Harry replied shortly. _“This is not the time.”_ While it was terribly nice of her to get defensive on Ron’s account, it wouldn’t do them any favours in convincing Professor Snape that they had nothing to do with Malfoy’s lateness. The professor probably realized he hadn’t seen Erus until after Malfoy had returned, and whatever Malfoy had said to him had led Professor Snape to the conclusion that _Harry_ was to blame for Malfoy’s lateness.

    With another quieter hiss, Erus settled back around Harry’s neck.

    “Ron?” Harry prompted quietly.

    “Fine,” Ron replied, tone sharp. It seemed Malfoy had struck a nerve with his comments. “It looks like Malfoy needs things explained to him. Word. By. Word.” He picked up his parchment and began to read off of it, carefully pronouncing each word. Harry held back a snicker as Malfoy’s face turned pink again.

    Eventually, Harry’s first class was over. He was happy he’d been able to brew a potion – a rather successful potion, for all that Malfoy had attempted to sabotage them. But Erus had caught him each time, fangs bright and sharp in the dim dungeon lighting.

    Harry had to hand it to the blonde – he was incredibly sneaky. Half the time Harry hadn’t realized their potion was in any danger until Erus was there, noises spat from her mouth with enough venom that even Malfoy knew them to be a threat.

    Others had definitely not been so lucky, in terms of brewing – Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Crabbe and Goyle had ended up with perhaps the worst examples of a Cure for Boils potion in the class. Ron suspected that Seamus had only done so badly because his partner was Neville, but Harry thought it was Seamus’ fault as well. He should have been making sure his partner was following the recipe, after all.

    As the other students rose to leave, each flushed with pride or embarrassment, Harry remained seated. Lavender had looked rather smug, while Hermione looked ready to hurl a textbook at the other girl’s head. She looked over at Harry once, and the expression on her face very clearly said ‘I told you so’.

    Ron hesitated at the door in a touching display of concern, but Harry just smiled and waved him away. He sat patiently at his desk as Professor Snape checked the potions the class had brewed. Erus nestled closer, hissing comfortingly against his skin.

    Instead of simply sitting and doing nothing, Harry carefully copied out Ron’s notes with his own messy scrawl. He then wrote down everything he remembered Professor Snape saying throughout the class – even the memorable tongue lashing the professor had given a very frightened Neville when he had inspected the Gryffindor’s potion.

    “Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said, ten minutes after the class had ended. “Your next class begins in less than five minutes. If you are late, I will be docking points.”

    Harry glanced up. “I was waiting for you, professor,” he said. “It looked like you were doing something important,” he gestured to the phials of potions, “and I was taught not to interrupt.”

    Unconsciously, his hand came up to rub his shoulder. _That_ had been a particularly painful lesson, a lesson he had not forgotten in a hurry. Erus moved, her head rubbing along the length of his jaw. For all that it wasn’t her fault, Erus had admitted that she blamed herself for not being there to help. Harry had never thought her at fault, but it had been nice to have someone worrying about him.

    “Indeed,” Professor Snape replied. “I do not doubt you know why I wish to talk to you, Mr Potter?”

    Harry tilted his head. “I’m afraid I don’t, professor.” He let his eyes widen, as though something had just occurred to him. “Is this about why Malfoy was late, Professor Snape?”

    “Indeed,” the professor repeated slowly, his expression carefully blank. “Mr Malfoy was attacked by a snake before class began. It was the reason he was so late.”

    “I suppose there aren’t many snakes at Hogwarts, professor?” Harry asked, wincing a little.

    “No,” Professor Snape drawled. “There are not. Mr Malfoy was quite adamant it was _yours_.”

    Harry sighed. “I don’t know what you expect me to say, professor. I don’t control Erus – if I did, she wouldn’t be here with me. She – wait! She didn’t _bite_ him, did she?” Harry made his face pale as he stared at Professor Snape.

    “No,” the professor replied. “She did not.”

    Harry relaxed his shoulders, breathing out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. But if she didn’t hurt him, it was probably just a warning, professor.”

    “And did you ask your snake to _warn_ Mr Malfoy?”

    “Of course not, sir,” Harry replied. “Why would I have to do that?”

    Professor Snape regarded him with an almost puzzled look. “It pains me to say this, Mr Potter,” he began, “but I’m beginning to suspect you are nothing like your father.”

    Harry nodded. “I expect I’ll be hearing that a lot,” he said. He didn’t _want_ to be like his father – he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He had no intentions of living in someone else’s shadow. Besides, if what he suspected about Professor Snape’s past was true, he wanted _nothing_ to do with his father. “Am I free to go, professor?”

    After a pause, Professor Snape nodded slowly. Harry turned and walked from the room, his notes tucked into his bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!


	7. Malfoy the Flatterer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Make room for small, fragile things, even with bones like cement and a leaden heart._

    Thursday morning, at breakfast, Harry received a letter from Hagrid. It arrived by a rather stunning brown and silver eagle owl that belonged to Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoon off, so would you like to come and a cup of tea around three? I want to hear all about your first week._

_Hagrid_

    Harry put the letter in his pocket. “Hagrid wants to have tea with me on Friday,” he said as the owl hopped over to coo at Hermione. “Would you two like to meet him?”

    “Hagrid’s the groundskeeper, isn’t he?” Hermione asked. She stroked her owl’s beak, feeding her some sausage. “This is Dia, by the way.” The owl hooted at him softly, yellow eyes sharp.

    Harry smiled and extended a careful hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Dia. Thank you for bringing me my letter.”

    The owl, after a second of consideration, consented to be touched by Harry, letting him bury his fingers into her warm feathers. She then fluttered to perch herself on Hermione’s shoulder, threading her sharp beak through Hermione’s curly hair.

    Erus peeked out from beneath Harry’s chin. _“That is a predator, speaker.”_

    “Oh,” Harry said.

    Ron glanced at him. “Something wrong?”

    “Erus is worried she’ll get eaten,” Harry explained, nodding at Dia. “Dia certainly looks big enough to eat her…”

    Hermione shook her head. “Erus will be fine,” she assured him. “Dia is more intelligent than your average owl – she won’t eat Erus.”

    _“Hear that, Erus? You’ll be fine.”_

    The snake moved, flowing down his arm and poking her head out to peer at Dia. _“I would like to meet the predator.”_

    “She wants to meet Dia,” Harry said. “Is that okay?”

    Hermione narrowed her eyes. “She’s not going to bite Dia, is she?”

    Harry shook his head. “She specifically said ‘meet’, not bite. If she wanted to bite, she’d say so.”

    “Very important difference, that,” Ron said, shovelling more food into his mouth. _How_ he managed to eat so much was beyond Harry, who was still feeling full from eating one slice of toast at breakfast.

    “Erus will only bite to protect herself,” Harry added. He shot Hermione a smirk. “Or if I ask her to.”

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “Alright. Dia, this is Erus.”

    Erus slithered the whole way out of Harry’s sleeve, coiling on the table and peering up at Dia. Dia hooted softly, swivelling her head from side to side as she studied the snake. After a tense second, Dia hopped down onto the table, cooing gently.

    At the other end of the table, someone slammed their hands against the wooden surface.

    As one, Erus and Dia spun and reacted defensively. Dia’s wings flared wide, wide enough to almost knock Harry’s glasses off his face, and Erus reared up, hissing menacingly.

    Harry glanced at Hermione. “No one messes with these two,” he said, smile curling the corner of his mouth. As the two animals settled, the Slytherin who had slammed his hands against the table unfroze, an expression of relief colouring his face.

    Ron shook his head. “Leave it to you two to have the maddest animals at Hogwarts. Me? I’m stuck with Scabbers.” He poked his rat with the tip of his finger. The rat didn’t react.

    “He’s not dead, is he?” Hermione asked as Dia hopped back onto her shoulder and began to preen herself. Erus slithered back up Harry’s sleeve.

    Ron scowled at his rat. “No, I think he’s just sleeping.”

    Harry laughed. “At least one of us isn’t trying to take over the world. Now, do you two want to meet Hagrid tomorrow or not?”

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Tea at Hagrid’s was very normal, surprisingly so. The three of them made their way down to Hagrid’s house, which sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, at five to three. Erus and Scabbers accompanied them down, although Ron’s rat was asleep in his pocket. Dia, Hermione told them, was sleeping in the Owlery.

    Harry knocked twice on Hagrid’s door, somewhat surprised to hear something large scrabbling towards the door. Ron sent him a worried look when the barking started, deep enough to resonate in Harry’s chest.

    “Back, Fang, back,” Hagrid said, opening the door a crack and peering at the three of them. “Hang on,” he said. His face disappeared from the crack, and they heard a final, “ _Back_ , Fang,” before the door reopened and he let them inside.

    ‘Fang’ turned out to be a rather large dog, black and… well, _big_. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a dog so large. When Hagrid released his collar, Fang bounded over to greet them, sniffing around their shoes before nudging Ron’s hand for a pat.

    “Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid said.

    Harry, Ron and Hermione all found seats in the rather small room. Harry thought it probably seemed smaller than it actually was, on account of how large Hagrid was. The hut was certainly bigger than his cupboard had been.

    “This is Hermione,” Harry said, “and Ron.”

    Hagrid beamed at them. “Glad to see yer makin’ friends, Harry. Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid nodded at Ron’s hair. “I spent half me life chasin’ yer brothers away from the Forest.”

    Ron gave a forced smile. “You won’t have to worry about me following them,” he replied. He pointed at his silver and green tie. “Not nearly brave enough.”

    “Or stupid enough,” Hermione muttered quietly.

    “Glad to hear,” Hagrid said, offering them all a cup of tea. “So. How’s Hogwarts been treatin’ yeh?”

    Ron launched into a grand story, leaving Hermione and Harry to poke at the rock cakes Hagrid had offered them. Wisely, neither of them dared bite them, but Ron tried to take an enormous bite halfway through his story and had to stop.

    Hermione took over, telling Hagrid about everything she’d learned in the first week. Harry was surprised to note that Hagrid looked wistful as he listened to Hermione talk. It was during Hermione’s talk that Harry noticed cuttings from the _Daily Prophet_ , the most popular of the wizarding papers, littering the table underneath the tea. One in particular caught his attention.

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_  
_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown._

    Harry blinked. “Hagrid,” he said, interrupting whatever Hermione had been talking about. “That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday.”

    Hagrid looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yer right,” he mumbled. Harry narrowed his eyes, remembering the package Hagrid had taken out of that vault. He flicked his eyes back to the cutting.

_Gringotts’ goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

    Interesting.

    “Ron,” Harry said slowly, “didn’t you say your brother worked with dragons?”

    Hagrid looked at Ron, eyes alight with curiosity. “That’d be Charlie, eh? Great with animals, that one.”

    Hermione watched Harry slide the cutting into his pocket, but didn’t say anything. Ron, who was still nursing an aching tooth, told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, including several stories that Harry once would have thought too fantastical to believe.

    _“Speaker?”_ Erus asked, poking her head out of Harry’s sleeve. Fang caught sight of her and started barking again. Erus drew back with a hiss, but Fang couldn’t be calmed.

    They left rather quickly after that, the cutting still secreted away in Harry’s pocket.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “So,” Hermione began. The three of them were seated in the Slytherin common room, tucked away beside one of the fireplaces.

    Ron glanced at her. “Huh?”

    She ignored him. “Harry,” she said, insistent.

    “Yes, Hermione?” Harry was trying to focus on his copy of _“The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)”_. There were so many interesting spells, including a very handy unlocking charm.

    “ _Harry_ ,” she repeated. “You took the cutting.”

    “What cutting?” Ron asked, looking lost.

    Harry hummed. “I did.”

    “Why?”

    “What cutting?” Ron repeated, a little louder. His voice caught the attention of the people sitting closest to them.

    “Shut up, Weasley,” someone snarled. “Some of us are used to a certain level of noise. Are you purposely disrupting our studies, blood traitor?”

    “With so many of you, I’d be surprised if you even knew the meaning of the word _silence_ ,” someone else sneered. “Do y’know how to spell it, _Weasley_?”

    Harry hadn’t had time to learn everyone’s names, although he thought that both of the Slytherins who had spoken were in the same year as Ron’s older twin brothers. Ron’s knuckles turned white around the arms of his chair, his face twisting in anger. Before he could stand up, the second person – a dark haired boy – screeched in sudden pain.

    Boils erupted over his skin, red and angry, and Harry knew the caster even before Hermione grabbed his glasses and whispered, “ _Occulus reparo_.”

    The first person was lucky – Hermione didn’t have time to cast another spell, because Professor Snape swooped in as though he’d been summoned. Like a particularly terrifying bat, he approached the moaning student. Hermione shoved Harry’s glasses back to him, and he put them on as discreetly as possible.

    After a long moment of examining the boy, Professor Snape looked around the room. “Miss Travers,” he snapped. “Take Prescott to the hospital wing. And whoever cast that curse had best step forward now,” he added in a silky voice, eyes settling on Harry, “before I find out myself. And trust me, you will _regret_ it.”

    Professor Snape, Harry had noticed, seemed to be needlessly dramatic at times. But his words _did_ send a spark of fear down Harry’s spine. He waited anxiously to see what would happen, ignoring Professor Snape’s eyes still on him. Amelia Travers helped Prescott out into the dungeons, the hidden entrance closing with a sound like a sigh.

    “It was Potter!” Harry resisted the urge to glare daggers at Malfoy. “The spell came from where he’s standing.” The urge became harder to ignore when Professor Snape looked positively gleeful. The older man really _did_ have it out for Harry. Not that he wasn’t used to people hating him, but he’d thought… Well, it didn’t matter what he’d thought, did it? He was wrong in any case, because whatever feelings Professor Snape had for Harry’s father, he seemed to be quite happy to take them out on Harry.

    “Potter,” Professor Snape snapped. “Bring your wand here.”

    Harry approached his furious Head of House warily. Was he going to break Harry’s wand? He needn’t have worried – the professor drew his own wand and cast a spell. Harry almost jumped in surprise when he heard his own voice coming from his wand.

    “ _Wingardium leviosa,_ ” his voice said, and whatever triumph had been in Professor Snape’s face died quickly. He checked Hermione’s wand next, face expressionless as he heard “ _Occulus reparo_ ” come from Hermione’s wand. Ron’s wand – it wasn’t his, because Ron had told him it belonged to his older brother Charlie – coughed before it uttered “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ” as well.

    Professor Snape regarded the three of them for a long moment. “Mr Malfoy,” he said, spinning around, “I suggest next time you have your suspicions, you come to me privately.” He regarded the gathered Slytherins. “If anyone has any information regarding this… _incident_ , please find me in my office.”

    Their Head of House disappeared, leaving Malfoy flushed with what Harry suspected was embarrassment. The common room was heavy with silence until Hermione and Ron moved to sit back in their chairs. They looked at one another in surprise, and then shrugged.

    “You coming, Harry?” Ron asked.

    “A moment,” Harry replied. He walked over to where Malfoy was standing, muttering to Crabbe and Goyle. He stopped talking when he saw Harry approaching.

    “What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy sneered. “An apology? You won’t get one from me.”

    Harry smiled. “I actually wanted to thank you. It’s very flattering that you think I’m capable of that sort of magic so early in the year.”

    And then he turned away, smile transforming into a pleased smirk as he walked back to sit with his friends.


	8. Which Weasley?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let none be the noose._

    Harry was on his way to class the following week – he’d gone to the library to borrow another book, leaving Ron and Hermione alone to argue the particulars about a certain point in Ron’s assignment in the common room. He’d gotten distracted by the knowledge at his fingertips, and it wasn’t until he’d looked up at the old clock ticking away above him that he realized he’d be late for class if he didn’t start moving.

    _“You should be better at managing your time,”_ Erus said disapprovingly. _“You do not want to get sent home.”_

    Harry suppressed a shudder at the thought – to be sent home now, after being free for such a short amount of time, sounded like torture. If he _did_ get sent home, he wondered if he would be allowed to keep his wand and books, because there were surely plenty of useful spells he had yet to find…

    “Hey!” someone shouted, and Harry spun around in surprise. Approaching him from behind were two boys, tall and gangly. They loped towards him, identical smiles on their faces. “Wait up!”

    “Hello,” Harry replied pleasantly, unsure of what else to say. Erus slithered around his neck once before settling.

    “We’ve been hoping to catch you alone for a while now!” the twins said enthusiastically.

    They were, if Harry wasn’t mistaken, Ron’s older brothers. Two of three still at Hogwarts. Harry recalled the other brother – Percy – glaring at him and Ron when they happened upon him in the corridors. He’d left without a word, nose pointed into the air.

    Ron had been stiffly furious for a while after that.

    “I’m Fred,” said the first twin.

    “And I’m George,” the second twin finished cheerfully.

    There wasn’t much difference between the two. Harry wondered if magical twins were closer in appearance than Muggle twins, because the only twins he’d ever met had been fraternal. One with dark hair, one with blonde. The only thing that had matched were their eyes, the same dark storm grey no matter which eye Harry had met.

    The twins in front of him, however, were eerily alike. They had the same red hair that Ron did, messy and curling around their ears. Their eyes sparkled with mischief, and they seemed to be unconsciously mirroring each other. When one moved, the other did at the same time.

    The first twin – Fred – was a little thinner than his brother. George had the pale silver of a scar on the underside of his jaw – Harry could only see it when George moved his head.

    Harry pasted a smile on his face. “I’m Harry Potter,” he replied, shaking the offered hands. Erus poked her head out of her sleeve to regard the Weasley twins. “And this is Erus,” he added.

    The twins nodded together. “You’ve taken in Ron,” they chorused. “Thanks for that.”

    “Bit worried he’d be an outcast, what with most of his family being in Gryffindor,” George said.

    “You’re not worried that Ron’s in Slytherin?” Harry asked. “Percy seems to be a little bothered by it.” He made a point to keep his voice polite, even if he felt a quiet surge of annoyance towards the other Weasley brother.

    Fred scoffed. “Percy can be a git,” he said.

    “He’s our brother, though,” George added. “So we have to deal with him.”

    “The whole rivalry is silly,” they chorused. Harry decided that he rather liked the twins, if only because they seemed to find the whole thing as ridiculous as he did.

    “But we’re not worried about Ron,” Fred continued.

    George nodded. “He’s the least of our concerns.”

    “We’re supposed to be worrying about tests…”

    “Grades…”

    “Homework…”

    “Did we mention exams?”

    “Mum won’t _stop_ mentioning them,” Fred groaned. “Bloody nightmare, I tell you.”

    Harry hummed. “From what I’ve heard, your mother sounds nice,” he offered. “She’d just be mentioning them because she wants you to succeed, right?”

    The twins blinked at him. “Untold wisdom lies in his heart,” George said solemnly.

    Harry cocked an eyebrow, unsure whether the older boy was making fun of him. “Am I wrong, then?”

    Fred waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. We didn’t actually come here to talk about ourselves.”

    “Right,” George said. “We came to say thanks for putting up with our baby brother.”

    “Snake he may be, but he’ll always be family.”

    “Exactly. You took the words right out of my mouth!”

    “You don’t have to thank me for anything,” Harry pointed out. “It’s not like I don’t get anything out of being friends with him – he’s friends with me, too.”

    “Untold wisdom,” Fred whispered to his twin, although he was loud enough that Harry could hear him easily.

    “Told you,” George replied smugly.

    “Fred! George!” another older student poked his head around the corner, dreadlocks swaying around his shoulders. “Hurry up! Let the little snake slither off – we’ve got McGonagall now. She’ll have our heads if we’re late.”

    “I’d best be off too,” Harry said. “I have Herbology now.”

    The twins nodded. “We won’t keep you anymore,” they said. “Just wanted to let you know that not all the Weasley’s are like Percy.”

    Fred grinned. “He’s one of a kind.”

    Harry laughed. “Thanks for the heads up,” he replied. Fred and George seemed alright – he was just glad that Ron didn’t have five brothers like Percy.

    “It was good to meet you,” George added as he and his brother started to walk away. “Welcome to Hogwarts!”

    “Oh, and Harry!”

    Harry tilted his head questioningly.

    “Just because we think the rivalry is stupid, doesn’t mean we won’t be trying to clean up in Quidditch!” the twins called, and with a synchronized wink, turned out of Harry’s sight.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    _“They were very talkative, speaker,”_ Erus hissed as Harry hurried into the Herbology greenhouse. He caught sight of Ron and Hermione near the back and made his way over to them. _“But they did not seem harmful.”_

    _“No,”_ Harry agreed. _“I quite like them.”_

    Hermione gave him a look. “You were almost late.”

    “Sorry,” Harry said. “I got held up. By your brothers, actually.” The last part he directed at Ron.

    “Ron’s brothers?” Hermione asked. Ron’s knuckles were turning white as his grip on the trowel tightened. “What did they want? Stirring up trouble? I’ve heard they’re rather good at that.”

    Harry shook his head. “Actually, they wanted to thank me. For being your friend.” He wrinkled his nose. “A silly thing to thank me for.”

    _“They were worried about him,”_ Erus said. _“They tasted of it.”_

    “Erus said they tasted like they were worried about you. They also made a point to tell me that Percy was the only git in your family.”

    Ron scoffed. “He’s the biggest, but he’s not the only git. You should ask Fred what he did to my favourite bear when I accidentally broke his toy broomstick.”

    The bitterness in Ron’s voice was thick, and Harry wondered if perhaps even the happiest family had problems. He pursed his lips.

    “What’s Quidditch?” he asked. “Is it a sport?”

    Ron perked up visibly, and Harry silently congratulated himself for the subject change. “I forget that you don’t know these things. Quidditch is our sport – we have teams all over the world.”

    “And we play it at Hogwarts?”

    “Well, first-years don’t. Because we’re not allowed broomsticks, see?” Ron shrugged. “Besides, most first-years can’t fly well enough to be considered.”

    Harry hummed thoughtfully, but Professor Sprout marched into the greenhouse and announced that the lesson was starting before he could reply. He was imagining Quidditch was something like soccer, but he couldn’t imagine why a sport like soccer would need broomsticks. Maybe something like hockey instead?

    Harry paused for a moment in the action of fertilizing the plant he was in charge of. Hadn’t Ron mentioned _flying_?

    The class went smoothly, and Harry was content to have his gloved hands in the rich soil as they potted some new plants that were used extensively in potion making. Hermione spent the majority of the class telling Ron and Harry about all the potions the plants were used in, sometimes going as far as to quote the entire recipe.

    Right before class ended, Harry glanced up and caught Malfoy’s eye from across the room. The blonde boy was staring at him with a look of concentration, but immediately turned away when their eyes met. With a furrowed brow, Harry stared at Malfoy for a long moment.

    Since the incident with Erus, Malfoy had been strangely distant, and it seemed as though the other Slytherin first years – apart from Daphne – were taking a page from his book. Hermione had told Harry that there were fewer instances of their peers sneering at her, or calling her a mudblood. He was grateful that Erus had helped Hermione, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that there would be no repercussions.

    So Harry made sure to keep an eye on the other Slytherins, never fully letting his guard down when he interacted with them. As of yet, there had been  nothing to make him worried, but that could change in a heartbeat.

    “Oh right,” Ron whispered suddenly, catching Harry’s attention. “I heard we’re having flying lessons with Gryffindor, starting Thursday.”

    “Flying?” Harry repeated. Suddenly, the broomstick comment made a bit more sense. “On broomsticks?” he checked.

    Ron nodded. “Excited?”

    Harry tilted his head. “I’ve never flown before,” he said. “I thought I’d be more scared.” The truth was, he hardly felt anything other than a brief flare of anticipation. What would it be like, to be able to fight gravity? A memory of falling flashed through Harry’s mind, and he felt an answering flash of pain from his shoulder. It was nothing more than a memory, though, so he ignored it.

    _“You should be scared, speaker,”_ Erus hissed. _“Death comes from the sky.”_

     _“You’re so cheerful,”_ Harry replied, stroking the back of his hand along Erus’ scales. A thought occurred to him, and he settled his face into a carefully impassive mask. _“Would you like to fly with me, Erus?”_

    Erus flinched away, her hiss loud in the near silent greenhouse. Harry fought to keep from laughing as she knocked his chin with her head and uncoiled herself from his neck. She slithered down to the floor and out of the greenhouse, and when she was gone everyone swivelled around to stare at him. Harry’s lips twitched into a smile.

    “I asked her if she wanted to go flying,” he explained to Ron.

    Hermione sighed. “ _Honestly_ , Harry.”

    Harry spent the rest of the day walking around with an amused glint in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet! Let me know in the comments if you're enjoying this~


	9. Flying, But Our Feet Never Leave the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There is a variety of sadness that makes a home in your guts and never quite leaves._

    Madam Hooch was like Professor McGonagall in two aspects. Her hair was turning grey, and she gave the impression that she was not to be messed with. Her eyes were sharp and yellow, and Ron muttered in Harry's ear about hawks and prey. He sounded eerily like Erus, but the excitement in his expression couldn't be missed.

    She regarded the two lines of first years silently for a moment, and Harry thought she looked rather exasperated already. He wondered if his House and Gryffindor were really that bad with each other, but then the memory of Percy’s palpable disgust popped into his head and he decided it was probably worse.

    “Well, what are you waiting for?” she barked abruptly. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

    Harry stepped up beside a broom. To his left, Ron and Hermione did the same. To his right, Malfoy and Zabini stood looking almost bored. Across from Harry stood Neville Longbottom, face paler than Harry had thought it was possible for a face to be. The other Gryffindors were alternating between looking fiercely excited and glaring at the Slytherin first years.

    “Stick out your right hand over your broom,” Madam Hooch instructed, “and say _up_.”

    “Up,” everyone chorused.

    Harry was pleasantly surprised when his broom immediately jumped into his hand, the handle warm and _alive_ under his palm. He glanced left, saw that Ron had his in his hand too, but Hermione was glaring at her broom as though it had personally offended her. Harry looked away before she could see the amusement in his eyes.

    To his right, Zabini was saying “Up” in a firm voice for the second time, and the broomstick moved to hover about a foot beneath his hand. The dark-skinned boy shrugged, glancing at Malfoy, who also had his broom in his hand.

    Neville’s broom hadn’t moved at all, and Harry noted the tremble of terror in his voice when he repeated the command again. Madam Hooch seemed content to wait, and eventually everyone but Neville had commanded their brooms off the ground. Madam Hooch took pity on Neville and let him bend over and pick it up.

    Madam Hooch had her own broom in her hand in a moment, and demonstrated how to properly mount the broomsticks without sliding off. Harry listened, but his hands seemed to find the right grip without him paying attention, because Madam Hooch nodded approvingly at him when she checked his hand positions.

    “Now,” she said, relocating to the front of the class, “when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard.” She demonstrated, pushing herself effortlessly into the air. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly.” When Madam Hooch’s feet touched the ground, Harry heard Neville make a sound of relief.

    “On my whistle. Three, two – ”

    Harry heard someone gasp, and turned to see Neville rising into the air, fingers gripping the broom too tightly. He made a terrified noise, but kept rising.

    “Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville just kept rising, up and up. Harry saw him look down, at the ground that was rapidly getting further and further from his feet, watched the gasp that stretched across his face, watched him slip sideways, and –

    Harry didn’t look away as Neville hit the ground, a nasty crack making him bring his hand up to his shoulder reflectively. He watched Madam Hooch hurry over, watched her help Neville to his feet. She turned to the class.

    “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’.” She gave them all a fierce glare before turning and helping a whimpering Neville away.

    Harry was brought out of his daze by the sound of laughter. He blinked, hand dropping away from his shoulder as he turned to look at Malfoy.

    “Did you see his face, the great lump?” His eyes were bright with his laughter, mouth twisted in an almost cruel smirk. Several other Slytherins joined in.

    _“Did you see his face, the little loser?”_ The words echoed in Harry’s head.

    “Shut up, Malfoy,” a Gryffindor girl snapped, her brown eyes narrowed.

    “Sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy asked, a coy smile on her face. “Never thought _you’d_ like fat little cry babies, Parvati.”

    _“Quick! Before someone finds him!”_

    “Look!” Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s the stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

    Malfoy held something round in his hand, triumph flashing across his face. Harry looked at it, his wand slipping into his hand. A spell he’d seen in the books from the library rose to his lips.

    “ _Accio_ ,” he murmured, and the thing in Malfoy’s hand landed in his empty one. The look on Malfoy’s face was priceless, but Harry was too cold to enjoy it properly.

    “Who dares – ” he began, but cut himself off when he saw Harry studying the odd ball. It was made of glass, about the size of a marble, and filled with white smoke.

    The field was silent for a beat. “It’s a Remembrall,” Hermione said. “The smoke goes red when you’ve forgotten something. They’re very helpful, I’ve heard, for people with memory troubles.”

    “Give it to me, Potter,” Malfoy said. He almost sounded nervous. “I just wanted to look.”

    “You know,” Harry said, voice soft. “I don’t like bullies.” He looked up, eyes meeting Malfoy’s. “If you just wanted a look, you could have _asked_.”

    He glanced over at the Gryffindors. The girl who’d spoken up – Parvati – was still standing at the front of the group, but she’d been joined by a boy with dark skin and close-cropped black hair. Ron took a half-step forward when Malfoy made a move, his wand held loosely in his hand.

    “Here,” Harry said, tossing the Remembrall to Parvati. “I trust you’ll get that back to Neville.”

    She caught it, looking from him to it and back again. “You don’t have to tell me that,” she replied, but the nod she gave him took all possible bite out of the sentence.

    “Turning on your own house so soon, Potter?” Daphne sneered. “Should have known you were a traitor. Just like your parents.”

    “Shut up, Greengrass,” Ron snapped.

    She curled her lip. “Or what?” she replied. “You’ll hex me?”

    “He won’t have to,” Hermione said, stepping up to Harry’s other side. She smiled, her wand lazily twirling through her fingers. Harry swore the wand looked as though it was trembling with excitement. “I’ll take _great_ pleasure in hexing you, Daphne. After all those comments in common room you thought I didn’t hear? Don’t tempt me.”

    Malfoy cleared his throat. “There’s no need to be so hostile, Granger. It’s just a stupid trinket.”

    “If it was just a stupid trinket, why’d you try and steal it?” the Gryffindor boy demanded.

    “It was just some harmless fun,” Pansy replied, flicking her brown hair over her shoulder. “You don’t have to get all up in arms about it.”

    “Harmless fun,” Harry repeated quietly. He slipped his wand back into his robes. Rolling his shoulder, he gave the Gryffindor’s a smile. “I anticipate our next flying lesson will be less action filled.”

    It wasn’t amazing, as far as apologies went, but Harry didn’t technically owe the Gryffindors’ one. Perhaps he should have been quicker to cast the _Accio_ , but he couldn’t be blamed for his distraction. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, either.

    The Gryffindor boy stared at him. Like Zabini, his skin was much darker than Harry’s own, and his eyes were brown. But where Zabini’s were almost honey coloured, the Gryffindor boy’s were dark. Finally, his attention turned to Ron.

    “Didn’t expect to see you in the green, Weasley,” he said. “Your brothers –”

    “Yeah, well,” Ron interrupted. “Here I am.”

    Harry hummed. “If they have something to say to him, they know where to find him,” he pointed out.

    “It’s not as though Ron’s hiding,” Hermione added.

    Parvati sent them a look. “Dean was talking to _Ron_ ,” she said.

    “Didn’t realize he was a messenger,” Ron snapped back. “Whatever my brothers have said to you, I don’t care. If it’s important, they can find me and tell me.”

    Dean folded his arms. “I was just going to say they sent a letter home. Percy did, anyway. Said something about breaking family traditions.” He shrugged. “Thought you should know.”

    “Bloody hell,” Ron said through gritted teeth. “Should have figured. Sounds like something Percy would do.”

    Harry cleared his throat pointedly, tilting his head towards Dean when Ron glanced at him. For a moment, Harry thought his friend wouldn’t get it, but understanding flashed across his face and he looked back at the Gryffindor.

    “Thanks,” he added. “For telling me. You didn’t have to.”

    “As touching as this all is,” sneered Daphne, “it doesn’t change the fact that none of _them_ ,” she waved her hand at Ron, Hermione and Harry, “should be allowed in our house.”

    _“Speaker!”_ Harry heard Erus calling him faintly. _“I have returned.”_

    “A blood traitor,” Daphne continued, directing her sneer at Ron, “the boy who lived,” at Harry, “and a filthy _mudblood_ –”

    “ _Daphne_ ,” Pansy hissed, her eyes flicking to the wand Hermione still had in her hand. “That’s _enough_.”

    _“Speaker?”_ Erus asked, and Harry spied her dark body moving through the grass by Daphne’s feet. She had left to go hunting in the Forbidden Forest earlier in the day, pointedly making her exit when Harry had asked her again if she wanted to fly. _“What is going on?”_

    Harry grinned. _“Perfect timing, Erus,”_ he hissed. _“You can scare_ her _.”_

    Everyone gathered flinched when the words came from his mouth, but Daphne apparently hadn’t learned when to quit. Harry found he wasn’t averse to teaching her.

    “You don’t scare me, _Potter_ ,” she snapped. “Everyone saw your snake leave the classroom, and there’s no way it can hear you so far away.” She smirked.

    “Why don’t you look at your feet, Daphne?” Harry replied, pleasantly. Everyone reflectively did as he asked – except Daphne.

    “Like I said, you don’t scare me,” she sneered. “And you won’t trick me.” She narrowed her eyes. “So you can stop hissing.”

    “Daphne,” Zabini said tersely, his eyes stuck at Daphne’s feet. “He’s _not_ hissing.”

    “I’m really not,” Harry added, spreading his hands wide.

    It was comical, watching the way the sneer froze and then fell from her face, the way her entire body locked up, the way her head tilted, oh so slowly, towards the grass at her feet. She swallowed when her eyes landed on Erus, coiled by her foot. Erus hissed, long and low, her head drifting from side to side like she was preparing to attack.

    “ _Conjunctivito_ ,” Harry heard Hermione mutter, and the next second Daphne had her hands covering her eyes, stumbling back a few steps. Harry pulled off his glasses, even though it put him at a disadvantage, and offered them to Hermione. She took them with a tiny smile and murmured, “ _Occulus reparo_.”

    “The next time you’d like to insult me,” she murmured to a panicking Daphne, who was being comforted by Tracey Davis, “ _please_ , do it somewhere where there are no witnesses.”

    Ron nudged him. “Three strikes,” he muttered.

    Harry bent over and let Erus coil up his arm. “You’re right,” he said. “Next time will be her third strike. From where I’m standing, anyway.”

    “Hermione probably has a better view of things,” Ron replied. “Maybe this is her third strike after all.”

    _“Someone approaches,”_ Erus said.

    Harry glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t make out much. “Hermione, glasses. Erus said someone’s coming.”

    His glasses were pressed into his hands, and he slipped them back onto his face to see Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall approaching the gathered first years. Erus vanished into his robes, her cool scales sliding over his skin. Wands were quickly put away, and the two opposed group of first years made out as though nothing was wrong.

    The two professors regarded them silently. “It would appear your first flying lesson has come to a rather abrupt end,” Professor Snape drawled. “A pity.”

    Harry honestly thought Professor McGonagall was going to roll her eyes, but she merely glanced towards the Gryffindor first years. “Madam Hooch will be expecting you all back here the same time next week,” she said. “For today, however, you have all been dismissed.” She turned on her heel and marched away. The Gryffindors hurried after her, leaving the broomsticks in the grass.

    Professor Snape eyed the separation between the other Slytherins and Harry, Ron and Hermione for a moment. “Well? I know you all have a great deal of work to be getting done… Only two of you have handed in your assigned work for your Potions class.” His eyes flickered first to Malfoy, who puffed up with pride, and then to Hermione. “You should all be learning from their example. Back to the common room.”


	10. Two Months in And Looking Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you're forging your own path, be prepared to light your own pyre._

    Harry had been at Hogwarts for two months. It was an astonishing realization – he’d never been free from the Dursley’s as long as that. He had friends now, too, something he’d never had the chance to have with Dudley around. Harry realized, with a fierce sort of pleasure, that Dudley wouldn’t be able to scare off Ron and Hermione.

    Harry was doing rather well in his classes, too. Charms, for example, was fun. Harry loved the thrill of magic that tingled through his body whenever he uttered a spell. It didn’t matter if the spell didn’t work – Harry could _feel_ the magic, _feel_ that he had something special. Something the Dursley’s couldn’t take away from him.

    No longer was Hermione the only one able to successfully cast the _Leviosa_ charm – Harry, Daphne, Malfoy, Zabini and several other first years had all managed to cast the charm a few times each. The class had since moved on, of course, but the _Leviosa_ charm seemed much harder than the ones they were learning now. Professor Flitwick had explained that the first charm was usually the hardest – that the more they used their magic, the easier it would be to pick up new charms and spells. He likened it to using new muscle.

    Which made sense, considering how many times Hermione had hexed someone in the common room or in the Great Hall for calling her a mudblood. Daphne, Malfoy and Zabini had likely seen a lot of magic as they came from pureblood families. Ron _would_ have mastered the charm just as fast, had his wand been his own. Harry refused to think the Ron wasn’t good at magic – especially not with Erus calling him Harry’s ‘bloody one’. It was the wands fault, and that was that.

    During Potions, Harry was more often than not able to answer Professor Snape’s rapid-fire questions, and whatever ire the professor had towards him seemed to be slowly waning. That wasn’t to say that the two of them were on good terms – Professor Snape still seemed to expect Harry to make a mistake, still seemed to expect him to suddenly act like his father before him. Harry mostly ignored the professor’s searching looks now.

    Herbology was interesting – to a point. Harry was fascinated by the many plants and their uses, some of which he recognized from the apothecary in Diagon Alley, but not altogether excited about the prospect of taking care of the plants themselves. Professor Sprout was a lot nicer than Professor Snape, however, and Harry quite enjoyed her lessons.

    History of Magic was taught by Professor Binns – a ghost. Harry thought that the subject would have been interesting if it had been taught by anyone else, because the ghost somehow managed to make everything sound less fun than it had any right to be. Still, Harry was learning about magic, so he didn’t dare complain.

    Professor Quirrell, they all agreed, was very strange. His Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom smelled like garlic, so much so that there were moments where Harry thought his eyes were going to start watering from the smell. Ron told Harry and Hermione in a low voice that his brothers – who he had barely mentioned, and who he had never so much as looked at the entire time they had been at Hogwarts – had told him that Professor Quirrell’s turban was full of garlic too.

    Garlic, Harry learned, was a vampire repellent, which brought up lots of interesting questions.

    Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was exciting, if challenging. In their first lesson, she transformed her desk into a pig and then back again. The Slytherins were impressed, but held back any form of excitement – except for Ron. He was practically wriggling in his seat, ready to get started, and Harry had to hold back a laugh at the look on his face when Professor McGonagall began writing notes on the board for them to copy down.

    After they’d completed the notes, they were all given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. Harry hadn’t expected to be able to do it straight away, but others evidently had. Harry heard several Slytherins cursing at their match angrily.

    By the end of the lesson, Hermione was the only one who had made any noticeable change to her match. Professor McGonagall made a point to show how Hermione’s needle had grown silver and pointed at one end, and Harry felt Ron vibrating with laughter next to him at the expression on the other Slytherins’ faces (particularly Daphne’s – she looked like she’d sucked on a lemon).

    Life at Hogwarts was getting even better. In the common room, it was still awkward, tense – some people still dared to mutter the word ‘mudblood’, but when they did it was rarely in the presence of Hermione, Harry or Ron.

    Daphne was the main antagonist, but she was far from the only one. There was, of course, Crabbe and Goyle, who followed Malfoy around. Several of the older Slytherins seemed on the verge of saying something, but in the end they all just watched the first years (and some second years) spit words of disgust at Hermione.

    Zabini, whose first name was Blaise, mostly kept to himself, although he seemed on good terms with Malfoy and his two bodyguards, as well as another boy named Theodore. Pansy and Millicent Bulstrode – whom Hermione shared a dorm with – were mostly quiet, which made Ron suspicious. Harry had once walked in on Millicent ranting to Pansy about Hermione, but she’d stopped the moment she’d seen him.

    Harry also learned a lot about his new friends.

    Ron proved to be unexpectedly good at Astronomy, which they had at midnight on Wednesday’s. He was full of little stories and tricks to remembering which stars were which. When Hermione asked where he’d learned them all, Ron told them his older brother Bill Weasley was a fan of the stories. He worked as a Curse Breaker in Egypt, and sent letters when he could.

    He was also very good at understanding people, and was brilliant at wizard’s chess. He taught Harry bits and pieces whenever they had a spare moment. Harry was quite certain he would never beat his friend at chess, simply because Ron had no problems with completely annihilating him every game.

    Sometimes, Ron’s astuteness caused problems. For one, he sometimes knew what Harry was going to do before he did it. Most times, it was fine, but sometimes… Harry needed to get away. Be alone. He wasn’t used to so many people, wasn’t used to faking so much. Not on such a large scale, and not constantly.

    When Harry had first tried to leave, to go off by himself, Ron had followed him. Harry had snapped. It was the first time Ron had seen his true anger, and Harry thought his friend held up admirably well.

    “Just tell me if you want to be alone,” Ron had said in a surprisingly even voice, despite that fact that he’d been pale and shaking. “I didn’t realize.”

    Hermione, on the other hand, was much better at figuring books out. She always had a spare one with her – her version of ‘light reading’ generally meant a good portion of a textbook, if not the entire thing. She was very clever and liked to question things, which unsurprisingly made her very popular with the professors.

    Hermione was loved by all their professors – except Professor Snape. The professors all praised her skills, her persistent curiosity – except Professor Snape. None of the professors seemed to notice that Hermione’s questions hinted at darker things – except Professor Snape. Normally, Harry would be worried about his friend, but he knew Hermione could cover her tracks better than he could ever cover his.

    Erus seemed content at Hogwarts, which in turn made Harry even happier. He’d been worried that she would be uncomfortable so far away from her home, but Erus seemed fine as long as Harry was around. She slithered off every now and then, sometimes disappearing into the Forbidden Forest, but Harry knew she would always come back.

    Classes had gotten… Not exactly _easier_ , but predictable. It didn’t make them boring, not in the least. Harry was doing _magic_ , and that would never get boring. People saw him and still whispered about him in the halls, and he was so pleased with all the attention. It was so different to his aunt and uncle’s, where any noise he made was ignored – or got him punished.

    There were, however, things about Hogwarts that Harry wasn’t used to.

    The ready supply of food was probably the most notable. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it – and he didn’t think he should. In his mind, there was little he could do about his home situation until he was old enough to own his own flat. And it was entirely likely that the Dursley’s wouldn’t give him more food than he needed to function. So Harry thought it best not to get too comfortable with how much food was always available to him at Hogwarts.

    So, unlike Ron, who made a point of eating as much as he could get his hands on, Harry kept his eating to a minimum. He also made sure he kept up his table manners – he wasn’t looking forward to another ‘lesson’ in them from his aunt. While Ron shovelled food into his mouth like he was worried it would disappear before his eyes, the rest of the Slytherins stared at him in horror or pointedly ignored him.

    Another thing that Harry felt odd about was the bathroom that he, Ron and Zabini shared.

    There was no limit to the hot water, and neither Zabini nor Ron had any scruples with having long showers that left the bathroom steaming, and on one occasion Harry remembered accidentally walking in on Zabini soaking in the bath.

    “Sorry,” Harry apologized quickly, his eyes jumping away from the little he would see of the other boy. “I didn’t think there was anyone else in here.”

    He left before the other boy could respond, but Harry made a point of knocking on the door to the bathroom before he went in to avoid another incident.

    At the Dursley’s, Harry was allowed five minute showers – after everybody else. Whatever hot water was left after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had their showers was used up by Dudley, meaning that Harry’s showers were more often than not cold. At Hogwarts, on the other hand, he could have a hot shower whenever he wanted.

    The bath was also a luxury Harry hadn’t been ready for, and it had taken him a few weeks of study to figure out how the bath worked. In theory, it was simple – twist the taps. But there were little features that Harry didn’t know about, like the little buttons that, when pressed, turned the water different colours or put bubbles into the water.

    Often, he heard his housemates – mainly the girls, and most noticeably Daphne – complain about the Hogwarts bathrooms, but Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with them. He figured out that most of them had a problem with _sharing_ , rather than the bathrooms themselves.

    He wondered if they would still complain about the Hogwarts bathrooms if they were forced to share their home bathroom with Dudley.

    Harry was also allowed unlimited access to the library and all the knowledge it contained – with the exception of the Restricted Section. He hadn’t had so much freedom in his life before, and he attacked the near endless supply of books as eagerly as Hermione.

    Most of what Harry knew about the world had been the product of the frequent visits he’d had with Mrs Figg, an old lady who lived a few doors down and looked after him for the Dursley’s when they went out without him. Books on all sorts of subjects had been left around the house, and Harry had devoured them.

    He’d never told the Dursley’s about it, never revealed the extent of his knowledge for fear that it would be taken away from him. It was something that had been constant in his life – if he liked it, it was taken from him. Usually by Dudley, but also by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

    That hadn’t happened with Erus, of course, but that was only because Erus was venomous and not afraid to bite.

    The wizarding world was so _interesting_. Harry and Hermione just kept reading, and Ron learned a great deal simply by sitting with them and listening to them talk. He knew his fair share of things as well, and was often the first person Hermione or Harry would ask if they had a question about certain aspects of the wizarding world.

    He, Hermione and Ron managed to get themselves a half decent table in the library. They used the table frequently for homework and research, because all three of them had things they wanted to know. Hermione frequently looked up new potion recipes, and they all liked looking through books, committing different spells to memory.

    The Restricted section in the library was a source of great interest for all three of them. Their table offered them a good vantage point, and they watched each student who walked in. Always, always, they had a note from a professor – and most of them wore a prefect badge.

    “I could always ask Professor Flitwick,” Hermione said in a low voice, dark eyes following the latest student entering the Restricted section hungrily. It was a Ravenclaw prefect, one they had all seen enter three times in as many weeks. “I’m sure he’d let me borrow something.”

    Harry shook his head. “We’re only first years,” he reminded her. “It doesn’t matter how smart you are – no Professor is going to let a first year borrow something from the Restricted section.”

    “Besides, Flitwick would have to tell Professor Snape,” Ron pointed out. Scabbers was sleeping on a messy pile of Ron’s notes. “Since he’s our Head of House. And he already doesn’t like you because you’re friends with Harry and I.”

    Hermione wrinkled her nose in frustration. “I _know_ ,” she said, and Harry didn’t doubt she did, didn’t doubt Hermione had turned the idea over and over in her head until all the flaws had become obvious. “I just hate being idle.”

    “You already know so much,” Harry murmured, trying to help Hermione with her frustration. “Help me catch up?”

    _“The one called Malfoy approaches, speaker,”_ Erus hissed. _“But… he is alone.”_

    _“Alone?”_ Harry echoed, glancing up. And indeed, there was Malfoy, making a beeline towards their table.

    “Draco!” someone called, and the librarian, Professor Pince, shot Daphne a narrow-eyed glare that the girl ignored. “Come sit with us!”

    Ron and Hermione had heard Daphne, and both were watching Malfoy approach with interest. Malfoy ignored Daphne, steps determined as he approached the table. His lack of bodyguards probably meant he was actually coming to talk, rather than bully, but that made Harry even more suspicious.

    “What does he want?” Ron asked softly, echoing Harry’s thoughts.

    Hermione, Harry knew, already had her wand ready. She’d learnt several useful spells in the last few months of classes, including some rather nasty jinxes. It said a lot about her magical abilities, especially since some of the other first years were still struggling with _Wingardium leviosa_.

    Malfoy stopped by their table. “Potter,” he said. “Weasley.” He stared at Hermione for a long, tense second. “Granger,” he finally spat.

    “Malfoy,” Harry replied, fixing an easy smile on his face. “Can we help you?”

    Malfoy didn’t fidget – he’d been brought up better than that, Harry suspected. But there was a nervous sort of energy surrounding him, an unsure cast to his angular face.

    Ron cleared his throat. “Anytime now, Malfoy. We’re a little busy.” He made a hurry up gesture with his hand, much to Harry’s amusement. He hid his reaction before Malfoy could spot it.

    Jaw clenched, Malfoy tilted his chin up and stared straight into Harry’s eyes. “I would like to apologize for my behaviour as of late,” he said.

    Harry blinked. “Pardon?”

    Malfoy apologizing wasn’t something Harry had ever expected. Either Erus scared him too much that second day at Hogwarts – highly unlikely, given that that had been _ages_ ago and hadn’t curbed Malfoy’s rather biting tongue – or something else was influencing Malfoy’s behaviour.

    “I am apologizing,” Malfoy replied stiffly, sounding like they were the last words he ever wanted to say.

    Harry shot a glance at Ron and Hermione. “Just to clarify,” he said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “ _who_ are you apologizing to?”

    Malfoy blinked. “I’m apologizing to you,” he responded.

    “Just to me?”

    “Ye – ” Malfoy stopped. “Of course not,” he said finally. “I’m apologizing to all of you.”

    Hermione made a derisive noise. “Even to me?” she demanded.

    Malfoy swallowed. “Yes,” he very nearly hissed, jaw clenched tight again.

    _“Speaker, I do not understand. Why does he apologize? Is he friend now?”_

    _“No,”_ Harry murmured back. _“I don’t know why he’s apologizing, but I don’t like it.”_

    “What’re you apologizing _for_?” Ron asked suspiciously. “And why now?

    “My reasons are my own,” Malfoy replied stiffly, chin still up, shoulders back. The picture of pureblood aristocracy. “And they do not change the fact that I am apologizing.”

    Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Then I suppose the thing to do would be to accept your apology,” he said, another winning smile on his face. “Should we be expecting apologies from anyone else?”

    Malfoy, very subtly, flinched.

    _Interesting_.

    “I will not pretend to speak for anyone else,” Malfoy replied.

    “Not even Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry pressed, studying Malfoy intently.

    _“Speaker?”_ Erus asked, poking her head out from the neck of his robe and giving Malfoy a warning hiss. _“Can I bite him?”_

    _“No,”_ Harry said. _“I don’t understand. I need to understand. I’m missing something.”_

    “Not even them,” Malfoy said. “I would also like to inform you that you should expect a change in my behaviour from here on out. After all, we are all snakes.”

    Harry got to his feet. “Then I look forward to it,” he replied, holding out his hand to shake.

    Slowly, Malfoy took his hand, actions slow and reluctant. This obviously wasn’t something he _wanted_ to do. They shook hands carefully, and then Malfoy turned and left the library.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “Why the hell would he _apologize_?” Ron demanded in a whisper. He was shooting looks at Malfoy, who was sitting in front of them in their History of Magic class. His blonde hair, Harry noted absently, was very distinctive.

    “I haven’t any idea,” Hermione muttered. “Purebloods.” She tossed her hair in a distinctly dismissive way, focus turning back to Professor Binns.

    Harry nodded. “Purebloods,” he echoed. In particular, Dark purebloods, because if Ron was at a loss to explain the behaviour, it probably involved something he was unfamiliar with. Harry could imagine, given what he’d read about most families that identified as Dark, that there were things the children in such families were expected to do, to further increase their families’ power and influence. He felt a moment of frustration – there was too much he didn’t know, too much he had yet to discover about this new world he’d found himself in.

    And worse, there was no way for him to find out the information without asking for it. And Harry had always, always been taught not to ask for things. Well. He said _taught_.

    _“Speaker, what troubles you?”_ Erus asked softly, her tongue tickling his ear. _“Is this about the Malfoy?”_

    Harry hummed. _“Yes. I don’t like that he’s apologized for no reason.”_

    _“You think he has no reason?”_

_“No reason that I can understand,”_ he corrected himself. He glanced at the board, quickly scribbling down the notes Professor Binns had written. The benefit of having a ghost as a teacher was that Professor Binns wrote achingly slow – when he could write at all.

    _“And that is a problem?”_ Erus extended herself, tongue flicking in Malfoy’s direction. _“I could bite him?”_ she suggested.

    The three of them sat in the middle of the classroom, and Harry noticed several of his house mates subtly moving away from him. He gently pushed Erus back until she was settled around his throat. They relaxed.

    _“No,”_ he murmured. _“Biting wouldn’t achieve anything. I’ll just have to wait it out. He’ll either tell me, or one of us will find out. Hermione and Ron are as bothered as I am.”_

    Erus hissed. _“And the other matter?”_

    The other matter referred to the cutting he’d taken from Hagrid’s. He still hadn’t explained to Ron and Hermione _why_ the cutting had piqued his interest, but he would when the moment presented itself.

    _“I’ve been looking into it,”_ he replied. _“Hard, when I’m not sure what I’m looking for. But I’m going to talk to Hagrid soon. He knows.”_

    _“Do you think he will tell you?”_

    Harry smiled. _“I think he’ll let something slip. He’s not made to deceive.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a new chapter, sorry I missed out on updating last week >.> There'll be another chapter up soon since I promised 2 chapters ^.^
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments <3 I love hearing from you guys!


	11. Troll! In the Dungeon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You might not be afraid to die, but that doesn't mean you're ready._

    Malfoy stayed true to his word. Whenever he saw Hermione, Ron or Harry in the common room or around the castle, he was always polite. He never said anything that could be constructed as an insult, and he no longer just watched Daphne and the other Slytherins insult the trio. He was quick to remind the Slytherins that the Hat had sorted Harry and his friends into Slytherin, so they must be snake material. It took hardly a week for the other first years – save Daphne – to get behind him, and somehow Harry, Hermione and Ron ended up with more people actually talking to them.

    Harry took to the change gamely enough, practicing his mask and his reactions with each new interaction. Most often he played nice, slithering through people’s defences and gaining their trust. Sometimes, though, he played nasty, tugging at friendships and testing the strength of bonds.

    Hermione hardly seemed to care about the change – or if she did, it was because she now had less people to practice her hexes on. Ron was quiet around everyone else, and it somehow turned into people saying that Ron was just a tag along, wanting the fame that Harry had as the Boy Who Lived.

    They couldn’t have been more wrong, but the three of them mutually agreed to let people think whatever they liked. If Ron was underestimated so much, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He could go unnoticed, could find out things by eavesdropping and no one would ever know.

    Harry, Ron and Hermione were still interested in getting into the Restricted Section, but it was seeming more and more impossible. Any plans Ron came up with were quickly taken apart by Hermione or Harry. The plans started to get more and more ridiculous, and eventually Harry realized Ron was trying to keep Hermione from getting too impatient.

   Harry was still searching for information on what Hagrid could have taken from the vault at Gringotts, but he had almost nothing to go on and he hadn’t had any opportunity to see Hagrid since he’d told Erus he would.

    The whole castle was buzzing with excitement. It was the 31st of October, and that evening was the Hallowe’en feast. The Dursley’s had never celebrated Hallowe’en, and so Harry only knew about it from the books he’d read, and the people he’d seen out and about on Privet Drive.

    Harry, Ron and Hermione were on their way to the Great Hall when they ran into a group of concerned looking Slytherin first-years. They all stopped, rather surprised to see the normally haughty Slytherins expressing so much worry, before Harry started forward.

    “Is everything alright?” he asked. At his question, the Slytherins turned, closing ranks so fast Harry was amazed none of them ran into each other.

    Daphne’s face twisted into its familiar sneer. “What do you care, Potter?”

    “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care,” Harry replied.

    “Tracey is missing,” Hermione announced. Tracey Davis was one of the shyest Slytherins Harry had met, and he often found himself wondering at her placement. “What’s happened to her?”

    Malfoy, surprisingly, was the one who replied. “Nothing has happened to her,” he said tersely. “It’s honestly none of your business.”

    “If nothing’s happened to her, why are you all hanging around out here?” Ron asked. “I haven’t seen her since Charms.”

    Hermione nodded. “So something happened in Charms.” She narrowed her eyes at the group. “We’ll figure it out for ourselves if you don’t tell us, you know.”

    “This is _Slytherin_ business, Granger,” Theodore Nott replied.

    Harry smiled politely. “Then it’s our business too. We’re not wearing these,” he indicated his silver and green tie, “for looks, you know.”

    Daphne opened her mouth, but Pansy gave a huff of annoyance and interrupted whatever she’d been about to say. “Do stop, Greengrass. Everyone is very aware of your dislike of them.” She turned and regarded Harry with dark eyes. “Tracey’s in the bathroom,” she said. “She wants to be left alone.”

    “But she’s alright?” Hermione asked. “She’s not hurt, is she?”

    “If she’s hurt she should go to the infirmary,” Ron added helpfully.

    Pansy shook her head slowly. “She’s not hurt. She’s… Upset. She’s been having difficulties with the _Leviosa_ charm.”

    Harry cocked his head. “Is she worried that she’s not supposed to be here?” he asked. From the looks the Slytherins were exchanging, he’d come to the real issue. “If she wasn’t supposed to be here, she wouldn’t have gotten her letter,” Harry said. “But if she wants to be alone, I suppose we’ll have to respect her wishes.”

    Ron’s stomach snarled, and he flushed red. “Let’s get to that feast, yeah?” he muttered, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

    Erus, who had been asleep around Harry’s neck, woke up when he stepped into the Great Hall. _“Did I miss some excitement, speaker? I taste enemies.”_

    _“Nothing too exciting,”_ Harry replied, sitting at his customary spot on the Slytherin table. _“One of the girls from our year is feeling a bit down. She’s having trouble with a spell.”_

_“Ah,”_ said Erus.

    The Great Hall was decorated with pumpkins and candles. Bats fluttered and swooped around the hall, almost getting knocking off the professors’ hats and making the candles flicker and stutter. The food appeared on the platters, and Ron let out an audible sound of delight. Harry and Hermione grinned at one another.

    Harry was helping himself to a jacket potato – he’d decided that he could have a little more food than usual, given that it was Hallowe’en – when the doors to the Great Hall burst open. Professor Quirrell, his turban partially unwound and terror on his face, raced towards the professors’ table.

    “Troll!” he gasped, loud enough that his voice echoed around the hall. “In the dungeons.” He tripped, landing in front of Professor Dumbledore’s chair. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked up at the Headmaster. “Thought you ought to know.”

    And then he fainted.

    For a long moment, silence was heavy in the air. And then everyone jumped to their feet, screaming and yelling and generally panicking. Harry did not scream or yell, but he did jump to his feet, feeling more than a little panicked. Down the table, the other Slytherins had grown quite pale, and the prefects – in particular Amelia Travers and the Percy Weasley – were attempting to call for order to little avail.

    Professor Dumbledore managed to get everyone’s attention with several purple firecrackers that exploded from the tip of his wand. Every face turned towards the headmaster, and with a severe frown, he addressed the school.

    “Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

    Harry could hear the prefects calling for everyone to follow them, but he remained rooted to the spot. Trolls, from what he had read, were very, very stupid. Hogwarts was covered with protective charms, and no troll should have been able to make it inside – unless someone let it in.

    Ron grabbed his arm. “Harry!” he said. “Tracey doesn’t know about the troll.”

    Erus perked up, flicking her tongue against his cheek. _“You would save her, speaker?”_

    Harry nodded, catching Hermione’s attention. “Tracey,” he said, and Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. The three of them turned and marched over to the other first year Slytherins.

    “Pansy,” Hermione hissed, catching the Slytherin’s attention. “Which bathroom is Tracey in?”

    The realization made Pansy’s face turn even paler. “She’s on this floor,” Pansy replied. “She doesn’t know about the troll!”

    “Which is exactly why we’re going to go get her,” Harry said. “You need to keep the prefects from realizing we’re gone. Until we get back, anyway.”

    “What’s going on?” Malfoy demanded, appearing out of nowhere. Crabbe and Goyle settled into place behind him.

    Pansy nodded to Harry. “We can keep their attention off the fact that you three have disappeared,” she said. “In return, you bring Tracey back.”

    Harry didn’t bother to reply to that – with a whispered word, Erus slithered out of his robes and onto the ground. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed her through the crowds, leaving Pansy to explain the situation to Malfoy and the other Slytherins.

    Their plan to sneak into the toilets and convince Tracey to come out quietly died a swift death when they turned a corner. Harry only barely managed to pull his friends back out of the way when Erus hissed, _“Back!”_

    The three poked their heads around the corner to take another look at the mountain troll.

    It was huge. Dull skin, huge buck-teeth, hands easily the size of the platters on the House tables. Its ears were long and pointed, and it waggled them back and forth for a moment before turning and lumbering into the next room.

    Harry didn’t need Hermione’s sharp jab in his ribs to realize that the room it had gone into was the girls’ bathroom.

    “Hermione, spells,” he snapped, scooping Erus up from the ground. “Make it hurt. Ron, you get Tracey out.”

    No one asked any questions, because the next moment they all heard Tracey scream. Something crashed to the ground, the sound echoing up the halls. Harry and Hermione pulled out their wands, and they all raced over to the girls’ bathroom.

    Tracey was on the floor in a heap, staring up at the troll with wide eyes and screaming. The troll had knocked over the cubicles, and had now raised its club to hit Tracey.

    Hermione fired off her first spell. “ _Conjunctivito_!” she shouted, and the troll staggered backwards with a confused roar. Ron scurried in, grabbing the frozen girl’s arm.

    “ _Bombarda_!” Harry said, and the troll’s roar this time was one of pain. The blast from Harry’s wand left scorch marks over the troll’s skin, but Harry was disappointed to see that the troll appeared relatively unharmed – he’d _hoped_ the spell would be more useful.

    _“Dodge, speaker!”_ Erus hissed. The troll began to swing its club around blindly, almost hitting Ron and Tracey. Ron, far paler than usual, pulled Tracey out of the way at the last second, and the two of them managed to get out of the girls’ bathroom.

    “We’re not going to be able to kill it!” Hermione shouted. “We don’t know enough spells.”

    Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Let me try one more spell,” he called back. “Out of the way!”

    Hermione narrowly avoided getting hit with the furious troll’s club. Her spell was still in effect – the troll’s eyes were crusted over, swelling with puss. Harry planted his feet and waved his wand, focusing on the tantalizing feel of his magic.

    “ _Confringo_!”

    The resulting blast knocked Harry backwards. He landed on his back, staring dazedly up at the ceiling. Hermione pulled him to his feet, quite obviously yelling at him, but his ears were ringing and he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

    Ron grabbed his other arm, and together they guided him over to a small alcove where Tracey was sitting. Harry collapsed beside her, blinking blearily as he tried to sort himself out. As far as he could tell, the only injuries he’d sustained were the nasty knock to the back of his head and the ringing ears.

    Erus nuzzled against his jaw, a comforting weight around his throat. He coughed once, blinking until Ron and Hermione came into focus. He gave them a crooked grin.

    “That went better than I expected,” he said.

    “ _Better than you_ – Harry!” Hermione was almost shaking with rage. “Harry, that was reckless. Honestly, what were you _thinking_?”

    “That was definitely a Gryffindor thing to do,” Ron added, shaking his head.

    Harry just kept grinning. “Are you alright, Tracey?” he asked.

    She jumped, blinking at him. Her face was streaked with tears. “I-I’m fine,” she whispered.

    _“You are hurt, speaker,”_ Erus hissed.

    _“I’ve had worse,”_ he reminded her. “We should get out of here,” he said to the other three. “I’m amazed none of the professors showed up.”

    Hermione paled. “Oh, if Professor Snape catches us…” she muttered, horrified.

    Ron pulled Harry back to his feet. “Let’s get moving then.”

    Harry had no idea how it happened, but somehow the four of them made it back to the Slytherin common room without running into any teachers. Pansy had kept her word, and the prefects were still trying to sort everyone out when they slipped in. Hermione had cast a few quick charms to tidy up their appearances, followed by the _Leviosa_ charm just in case Professor Snape decided to check her wand. Harry followed her example.

    “Alright, everyone settle down!” Amelia Travers called. Edward Rowl stood to the side, looking distinctly amused with the current situation. He either had complete faith that the Professors would be able to take care of the troll, or he truly wasn’t bothered by anything.

    “I said _settle down_!”

    Tracey was swept up into the group of Slytherin first year girls, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione off to the side. Harry watched Tracey nod and shake her head, her lips forming the words “I’m fine” over and over again.

    “That was an adventure,” Ron muttered. “Let’s never do that again.”

    Hermione nodded. “No offense, Harry, but I don’t think we should try taking down a mountain troll again. We were incredibly lucky.”

    _“I agree,”_ Erus said.

    Harry rolled his eyes, even though the action hurt. “It’s not like we went _looking_ for trouble,” he muttered. “Professor Quirrell said the troll was in the dungeons.”

    “I wonder if he’s still passed out in the Great Hall,” Ron said, his lips twisting into a smirk.

    “Don’t act like you weren’t terrified when you heard there was a troll in the castle. I saw how pale you went.” Hermione raised a challenging eyebrow.

    “Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of a troll. At least I didn’t shriek,” Ron snapped back, the tips of his ears burning scarlet.

    Harry sighed. _“Are you alright, Erus?”_ he asked, reaching up to run his fingers over her smooth scales.

    _“I am fine, speaker. You should worry about yourself.”_

    Harry waved a dismissive hand. _“I’ve had worse,”_ he repeated. _“No broken bones to speak of. But I will need to sit down.”_

    His head was pounding, but Harry kept the pain off his face as Amelia Travers checked that everyone was accounted for. The room wavered slightly, and Harry’s grip on the chair turned his knuckles white.

    _“Speaker,”_ Erus hissed, keeping unnaturally still. When she moved, they’d discovered, it made the nausea worse. _“You should go to the infirmary.”_ Harry thinned his lips but didn’t reply.

    “Everyone, please return to your rooms for the night,” Amelia said. “Everything will be fine.”

    Ron shook his head. “Of course it will,” he muttered. “Harry took care of it.”

    Hermione glanced at Harry. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked.

    “You’re looking pretty pale,” Ron added.

    Harry _felt_ pale. The steady pounding in his head was made worse by the fact that he was now expected to move – he knew each step would just make the pounding worse.

    “Know any healing spells?” he asked, voice clipped.

    “ _Episkey_ maybe?” Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip, studying Harry with a critical eye. “I don’t know if it would work on a concussion though.”

    Harry couldn’t think. “Any way you could do it now?”

    _“Speaker…”_

    “There’s too many people. We need to move before the prefects come over,” Hermione replied. “Ron, you need to help him.”

    “If I have a concussion,” Harry murmured, “you need to wake me up every four hours.”

    _“You shouldn’t know this,”_ Erus said, sounding agitated. _“I can wake you if your friend fails.”_

    Harry nodded, registering Ron’s hand on his arm. “Let’s go,” he mumbled.

    They made it to their room, and Harry collapsed onto his bed. His head was spinning, his back ached. With a groan, he rolled onto his stomach.

    “Alright, Harry?” Ron asked anxiously.

    “I’m fine,” Harry replied tiredly. “Four hours, Ron.”

    “Got it,” Ron replied.

    Harry drifted off.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Someone was shaking him. Harry woke up with a gasp, automatically scrambling away from the hands on his shoulders, arms wrapped protectively around his ribs. His head pounded in time with his heart. His entire back screamed in agony at the movement.

    _“Speaker!”_ Erus said urgently, and he turned his head to the sound of her voice. _“Everything is fine, speaker. You are safe.”_

    Harry blinked, squinting up to see both Ron and Zabini standing by his bed. Zabini had his hands in the air, a wary look on his face.

    “Harry?” Ron asked quietly. “You alright? We should take you to the infirmary…”

    “How many times do I have to say I’m fine?” Harry hissed.

    Zabini tilted his head. “You wouldn’t wake up,” he said. “I don’t think that’s ‘fine’.”

    _“He speaks truth, speaker. You would not wake.”_

    “I’m awake now,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he glanced at Ron, “but I’m okay. Bit of a headache, but I’m alright.”

    Zabini gave him an unimpressed look. “Pretending you’re okay doesn’t help,” he said. “You’re lying.”

    Harry sat up, glaring at Zabini. “I don’t lie,” he snapped. “I’ve had worse, I’ll be perfectly fine. For now, I’m alright. Leave it alone.”

    _“Calm down speaker,”_ Erus hissed, coiling up his arm. _“You’ll make the pain worse.”_

    Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, tone neutral. “I’m going to the bathroom. If Erus comes out alone, you can come in.”

    He stood up, determined not to wobble even a little bit as he made his way to the bathroom. Ron caught his arm.

    “Harry,” he said. “Let me…” Ron glanced at Zabini, a calculating expression on his face for a moment before it vanished. “Let _us_ help.”

    “I don’t _need_ help,” Harry replied sharply. He could handle this – he’d had worse, this was _nothing_ compared to when he’d fallen down the stairs, nothing compared to when Dudley had tripped him into the fireplace…

    _“You will accept their help, speaker!”_ Erus hissed, flashing her fangs into his face. _“They do not think you weak. You are a child, and you will accept the hands offered to you!”_

    Harry shrank backwards, hissing back at her wordlessly. She flashed her fangs again, and whatever fight Harry had had in him left. Erus was really worried about him.

    “Alright,” Harry said quietly, shoulders slumping as he regarded the two boys in the room with him. “Help me.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

    It turned out that Zabini was really very good at healing magic. The second he cast the spell, Harry felt more alive than he’d felt in years. The ache in his head faded, becoming easier to ignore with each passing moment. Other pains that he’d gotten used to vanished as well.

    _“Better?”_ Erus asked quietly, running her head along his jaw.

    “How are you feeling, Harry?” Ron asked, wide blue eyes full of worry.

    “Better,” Harry replied, cocking his head as he regarded Zabini. The other boy watched him in return, expression blank as he pocketed his wand. “Thank you,” Harry said simply. “I believe this means I owe you a debt.”

    Zabini shook his head. “You brought Tracey back safely. You’re a snake, Potter, and I will not ask for anything in return. But speaking of debts,” he added, honey coloured eyes sharp, “Tracey owes you a life debt. Be sure to remind her of that.”

    “If she owes anyone a life debt,” Harry replied, “it’s Ron.”

    Ron sighed. “She doesn’t owe me anything,” he grumbled. “I did what anyone would have.”

    “No,” Zabini replied coolly. “You did not.” He flicked his eyes to Harry. “None of you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your promised second chapter ^.^
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	12. Figuring Things Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You were a plague none were prepared for._

    The next morning at breakfast, an owl flew in and landed directly in front of Ron, knocking milk onto Ron’s plate and startling Scabbers badly enough that he actually woke up. In its claws, it held a letter.

    Ron stared at the letter. “It’s from my mum,” he said, sounding a little horrified. “I’d forgotten that Percy owled her, the git.”

    There was really only one thing for it. “Open it,” Harry suggested, taking a bite from his toast. Erus hissed a quiet agreement.

    He felt remarkably well after yesterday evening’s ordeal, and had said as much to Zabini, who had made a point to wait for Harry to wake up to ask how he was feeling. The dark-skinned boy had looked pensive for a moment before he nodded in understanding and left for breakfast.

    Harry’s morning was made even better by everyone’s confusion as to what had happened to the troll.

    He’d heard varying stories on the walk to the Great Hall, including several students who were adamant the troll’s head had been blown clean off by a strong blasting charm. Harry quietly scoffed to himself – his magic wasn’t yet powerful enough to blast the head off of a mountain troll. But it was flattering that people seemed to think the person responsible was that powerful – and it also helped keep any suspicion away from Harry and his friends.

    The suspects ranged from an older student – many whispered it might have even been a seventh year – to a professor. But none of _them_ had admitted to killing the troll, and while Professor Dumbledore’s eyes had twinkled merrily as he’d addressed the school before breakfast to inform them that the danger was truly over, Harry had known that the professor had had no idea who’d killed the troll. Professor Dumbledore’s eyes were focused further up the table to the older students, subtly flicking from student to student.

    All in all, it was very exciting, and Harry was enjoying himself immensely. To reward himself for hiding his amusement, he ate an extra slice of toast.

    Hermione nodded and spoke, drawing Harry’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “You’ll never know what she thinks if you don’t,” she pointed out.

    Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Hermione thought of the whole troll ordeal, but she hadn’t said anything overly negative so he assumed her mind was on other things.

    “I could just wait until I see her on the holidays,” Ron muttered, but he opened his letter anyway. He scanned it, and Harry smiled when the tension bled from his shoulders. “She just said she was disappointed she had to hear it from Percy,” he told them, relief clear in his voice. “She said she and dad are expecting letters back.”

    Hermione beamed, looking truly pleased. “That’s wonderful, Ron. Harry and I can help you with your letters, if you like.”

    Ron glanced at Harry, who nodded his agreement. “Thanks,” Ron said. “I hate writing letters.”

    “Don’t you just hate writing in general?” Harry teased. Erus made a noise of amusement, her scales humming around Harry’s throat.

    “Oh shut it,” Ron grumbled. “I got that work done for Professor Snape, didn’t I?”

    He had. They had both spent the free time after their first flying lesson going over the assigned work with Hermione. Ron had needed admittedly more help, but Hermione was quick to point out any mistakes Harry made. Not to mention the homework they’d had due today – Hermione had been the one to point out that the professors would appreciate students who had clearly not been distracted by the events of last night.

    _“You have not yet explained your fascination with the paper, speaker,”_ Erus hissed.

    It had been a while since Harry had taken the cutting from Hagrid’s. It was probably past time to share it with his friends, so Harry sighed and pulled out the cutting from where it had been sitting in his robes and handed it to Hermione.

    She took it with a puzzled frown, before comprehension dawned and she passed the cutting to Ron. She waited for him to finish reading it before taking it back from him.

    “So you finally decided to let us in on whatever this is?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowed as she read through the cutting again.

    “Was this what you were talking about?” Ron demanded. “That day in the common room?”

    “Yes,” Harry said. “I intended to find out what it was – Hagrid told me that you’d have to be mad to try and steal from Gringotts. I thought it an interesting coincidence that the vault they intended to steal from was the same one Hagrid emptied when we went to Gringotts.”

    Ron’s eyes widened. “Whatever was inside, it must have been pretty dangerous,” he said.

    “That’s the thing,” Harry replied. “It was this tiny, grubby package.” He demonstrated the size of it with his fingers. “Hagrid said Professor Dumbledore asked him to get it.”

    “Maybe it’s an ingredient. Rather than being dangerous itself, it could be added to something to make it dangerous.” Hermione handed the cutting back to Harry, who returned it to his pocket. “Did you catch a glimpse of anything else?”

    “The entire vault was empty,” Harry said, “except for the package. But I think it was hard – it didn’t change shape when Hagrid picked it up.”

    “Like a rock?” Ron asked.

    “Exactly like a rock,” Harry replied.

    Hermione was looking thoughtful. “And it was the only one in there? It must be very rare.”

    “If it’s dangerous, wouldn’t they keep it all separate anyway?” Ron fed Scabbers some of his sausage.

    “The only dangerous rocks I know of are used in potions,” Hermione said. “If it’s a dangerous potion ingredient, then it wouldn’t be kept at Gringotts. Under lock and key, yes, but not Gringotts.”

    “I was going to see Hagrid tomorrow, see if I can get him to let anything slip. But at least we have something to look for now.”

    “A rare rock that might be used in potions,” Ron muttered. “Sounds easy enough.”

    They finished their breakfast and headed off to their first class for the day. Professor Binns had already floated through the board when they arrived, and class began without much fuss. If Malfoy and Daphne were staring at Harry intently, he pretended not to notice.

    _“I do not like that he does not smell,”_ Erus murmured, glaring at Professor Binns. _“It makes me uneasy.”_

    _“He’s dead,”_ Harry replied. _“I don’t imagine he’d smell like anything interesting, anyway. Maybe like old books? And dust?”_

    _“Dust can smell interesting, speaker,”_ Erus replied.

    Harry felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. _“I’ll take your word for it.”_

    Near the end of the lesson, Hermione suddenly sat up ramrod straight. She moved so abruptly that she woke up Ron, who had started to doze off listening to Professor Binns’ droning voice. Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye as she started to furiously scribble something onto her parchment.

    Harry was fortunate in that he could be very patient when the time was called for. Ron, on the other hand, was not. Hermione did not share whatever thought had hit her during Professor Binns’ rather boring lesson with them until lunch. By then, Ron was a permanently scowling face at his side.

    “Have either of you heard of the Philosopher’s Stone?”

    Harry felt his eyes widen. “It’s _real_? I thought it was just a story.”

    “I’m lost,” Ron admitted. “What’s the Philosopher’s Stone?”

    “It’s basically the only reason people started studying alchemy,” Hermione replied. “It can transform any metal into pure gold.”

    Ron looked impressed. “I think that would warrant someone trying to steal it.” He examined Hermione’s expression for a moment. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

    Hermione nodded furiously, leaning across the table. “The Philosopher’s Stone produces the Elixir of Life. The Elixir of Life makes whoever drinks it _immortal_.”

    _“What does ‘immortal’ mean, speaker?”_   Erus asked.

    _“They won’t die,”_ Harry explained. _“They’ll just keep living.”_

    Erus tightened her coils around Harry’s throat. _“But then they are not living,”_ she said, sounding puzzled. _“They would be like a rock.”_

    The corner of Harry’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he murmured. “But I don’t understand why Professor Dumbledore would ask Hagrid to take it from Gringotts, if it’s the safest place in the wizarding world.”

    Ron raised an eyebrow. “That’s easy. Gringotts isn’t the safest place in the wizarding world. Why so you think Hagrid brought it to Hogwarts?” When Harry and Hermione simply stared at him, he grinned. “What, I figured something out before you two? The third floor corridor? The one Professor Dumbledore warned us about at the Welcome Feast?”

    “Oh,” Hermione breathed, her eyes going wide. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Ron!”

    Erus twitched against his neck. _“If you seek what is in the room, I can help you find it – and get in.”_

“Erus said she can help us, if we need it,” Harry told Ron and Hermione. “We’ll have to find the room before we do anything.”

    “But what are we going to _do_?” Hermione asked. “It’s not like any of us would benefit from having a Philosopher’s Stone – we can’t brew the Elixir of Life.”

    “Besides, Professor Dumbledore would probably figure out exactly who took it. We’d get in _huge_ trouble.”

    They both had a point, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that keeping an eye on the Philosopher’s Stone – if that _was_ what was in the third floor corridor – was important. He said as much to Ron and Hermione. He hadn’t spent the little free time he had researching this just to find out what it was.

    “Anyway,” he continued, lowering his voice even further, “Professor Dumbledore has no idea who took down the troll – what makes you think he’d figure out this?”

    Neither of his friends could come up with a good argument for that.

    _“Do you want me to find the room, speaker?”_ Erus asked eagerly. _“It will be like the games we played in the park – hunting the birds and the mice together.”_

    Harry smiled and ran a finger over Erus’ head. _“You go have a look, then. We have class now.”_

    Erus slithered onto the ground and made her way out of the Great Hall. Harry caught Professor Snape looking at him oddly, but the man didn’t approach him. It was time for class again anyway, so Harry simply nodded at his professor before leaving the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione.

    Professor McGonagall had them practising with their matches again. Hermione could now turn her match into a needle easily, and Professor McGonagall was very obviously impressed with her skill. Harry’s match turned silver and pointy at one end, but he couldn’t seem to get the other end to change. Ron had even less success, although Hermione told them both she thought it had more to do with Ron’s wand than Ron’s magical ability.

    “But I can’t _do_ anything about my wand,” Ron replied, staring miserably at his brother’s wand.

    Hermione just smiled. “When you get your own wand, you’ll see how much this one is holding you back,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry I've been gone so long - I still have no internet from moving so I'm operating on phone wifi. Let me know what you think, and thank you for all the comments that keep flowing in <3


	13. Never Celebrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's no rule stating that parasites can't be pretty._

    They were in Defence Against the Dark Arts when Erus returned from her search. Professor Quirrell was reading out loud from a passage on Doxies, his stammer lengthening the time it took for him to read a page. Hermione was diligently taking notes, her quill scratching on the parchment beside Harry. On her other side, Ron looked half-asleep.

    Harry was only partially paying attention, but Professor Quirrell was reading from the textbook. Harry had marked down which pages he would need to go over, and made a note to look up some extra information on Doxies.

    “And t-this is why we f-find Doxies in t-this p-p-part of the world,” Professor Quirrell said.

    _“Speaker!”_

    Harry immediately snapped to attention. Hermione paused in her writing to glance at him, but he barely paid her any mind. Erus called for him again, and Harry very quietly hissed her name. She slithered into the classroom not a moment later, streaking under the desks to get to him.

    She was very obviously terrified. Some of her scales were puffed out, and she hid herself under his robes, coiled tightly around Harry’s arm. Harry stroked her through his sleeve, murmuring to her as quietly as he could.

    He stopped paying attention to Professor Quirrell’s lesson entirely, too concerned with what had happened to Erus to really listen to the stammering Professor. Erus was mostly silent, apart from when she whispered, _“Speaker?”_ and Harry replied, _“I am here.”_

    It took until the end of the lesson for Erus to calm down.

    _“What happened, Erus?”_ Harry asked quietly, gathering his supplies.

    _“The thing you seek is guarded,”_ Erus hissed back, shifting anxiously. _“So many eyes, speaker, all focused on me.”_

    Harry frowned. _“What do you mean?”_

    She moved to coil around his throat, squeezing just a little too tight. Harry didn’t complain. _“A predator I have never seen,”_ she whispered. _“Six eyes, speaker. I fled.”_

    Harry stroked her scales soothingly. _“You’re alright – I have you, Erus.”_

    _“Do not go to the corridor, speaker,”_ Erus said. _“The predator will get you.”_

    _“What exactly did you see?”_ Harry asked.

    She coiled tighter, loosening only when Harry coughed pointedly. _“It was like the predators you call ‘dogs’,”_ she explained, _“but it had six eyes and three mouths, full of teeth. If it was not there, speaker, I would have found the thing you seek.”_

    Ron planted a hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him along as he spoke to Erus. Hermione was behind them both, her dark eyes no doubt flickering between Harry and Erus. Distantly, Harry heard Ron snap at someone, but he was too busy thinking about what Erus was describing.

    When he grew aware of his surroundings, he was unsurprised to find that they’d made their way back to the library. Erus had settled down considerably, her tongue flicking against the hollow of his throat. Ron and Hermione were talking quietly, but they stopped when Harry cleared his throat.

    “Is Erus alright?” Hermione asked, sounding concerned. “She didn’t look hurt.”

    “She’s fine,” Harry replied. “She didn’t find the Stone, but she found something else.”

    Ron furrowed his brow. “What?”

    “There wouldn’t happen to be three-headed dogs in the wizarding world, would there?” Harry asked, sighing when both Ron and Hermione gave him puzzled looks. “Didn’t hurt to ask,” he muttered.

    “I haven’t read anything about them,” Hermione said. “I can’t imagine it’s an impossibility though.”

    Ron shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know a lot about animals,” he added regretfully. “Just enough to know I have to feed Scabbers.”

    _“Your friend knows animals, speaker,”_ Erus pointed out.

    _“As far as I’m aware, all my friends are here,”_ Harry replied.

    “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?” Ron said, and Harry shifted around to see Hagrid manoeuvring between shelves, looking distinctly out of place with his wild hair and coat.

    _“Indeed they are,”_ Erus said smugly.

    “Jus’ lookin’,” Hagrid replied.

    Harry knew immediately that he was lying. “Just looking,” he repeated, nodding his head. He hoped Hagrid had a good reason for lying – he didn’t want to have to give Hagrid his first strike. “Hagrid, you’re good with animals, aren’t you?”

    “Ye could say that,” Hagrid said, shifting nervously. He was hiding something behind his back.

    Hermione leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about three-headed dogs, would you?”

    “Like the one guarding the room in the third corridor?” Ron added helpfully.

    Hagrid froze. “How do ye know about Fluffy?”

    Harry smiled. “So you _do_ know about three-headed dogs,” he said.

    “ _Fluffy_?” Hermione repeated. “It’s yours?”

    “Course he’s mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year – lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –”

    “We know,” Ron interrupted. “No need to shout it out, Hagrid.”

    “What do ye mean ye know?” Hagrid demanded.

    Harry pulled the clipping from his pocket, handing it to Hagrid. “We figured it out,” he said simply.

    Hagrid peered at the clipping, before casting a look at the three of them. “Ye can’t be doin’ anythin’ with this, ye hear?” he said, speaking quietly. “Yer not supposed to know about it.”

    “We’re not going to tell anyone,” Hermione said, sounding affronted. “We’re just… Keeping an eye on it.”

    “Well, Fluffy’s lookin’ after it. There ain’t nobody who can get past Fluffy, cept me.”

    Harry hummed. “As long as it’s safe,” he said. “We’re just making sure, Hagrid. Wouldn’t want something like that to fall into the wrong hands, after all.”

    Hagrid stared at them. “Ye promise ye won’t do anything?” he asked.

    “As long as nothing happens, we’ll just be watching,” Harry promised.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “You don’t think that something has _already_ happened, do you?” Ron asked later.

    “What do you mean?” Harry replied. Hermione was busy reading over their assignments for Transfiguration, brow furrowed in concentration. Harry was pretty sure that he’d gotten everything he needed into the essay, and Ron was too over it to be worried anymore.

    “With the –” Ron cut himself off, glancing around the common room. They were separated from the other Slytherins by a few couches, although Tracey had wandered over to say a tentative hello to the three of them when they’d first sat down. No one was paying them any attention, and Harry thought he knew what Ron was referring to.

    “The Stone?” he clarified quietly.

    Ron jerked his head in a nod. “I mean, you thought the troll was pretty suspicious, right? What happens if that had something to do with it?”

    Harry hummed in agreement. “I thought Hogwarts had spells that protected it from that kind of thing.”

    “It does,” Hermione murmured, proving that she was paying attention. “But what, exactly, do you think the troll would have achieved? It could have made it past Fluffy, but I don’t think he’s the only line of defence.”

    Ron shook his head. “The troll wasn’t anywhere near the third floor corridor,” he said. “It was in the opposite direction, wasn’t it?”

    “You’re right,” Harry replied. Erus hissed quietly, raising her head to see over Harry’s shirt collar. “Are you thinking it was a distraction?”

    “It makes sense, when you think about it,” Ron said. “Attract everyone’s attention to something way over there,” he gestured with a hand, “while you sneak in over here.”

    Hermione placed Harry’s and Ron’s assignments on the table beside her. “That could have happened. But do you think whoever it was could have gotten past Fluffy?”

    “We’d have to ask Hagrid,” Harry said. “What are we doing after class?”

    “Ron’s redoing his assignment,” Hermione replied, shotting Ron a disappointed look. “You weren’t even trying,” she accused.

    Ron huffed. “It’s hard, alright?”

    “If it was easy, everybody would do it,” Harry said absently.

    “Can you at least tell me what I got wrong?” Ron asked.

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “Rewrite the whole thing,” she said.

    _“Malfoy approaches with Zabini,”_ Erus hissed. Harry glanced up, and Ron and Hermione, both of who were growing more aware of Harry, followed his gaze.

    Ron immediately grew tense. “They were acting concerned this morning,” Ron said. “Hermione was making sure you didn’t walk into anything, so I told them to go away.”

    Erus tasted the air. _“They taste curious, speaker. I sense no worry from them.”_

    Harry nodded. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he muttered.

    “But satisfaction brought it back,” Hermione finished, her eyes glinting. “How are you going to explain this one, Harry?”

    “Simple,” Harry replied, his eyes narrowing as he watched the two boys approach. “I’ll tell them the truth.”

    Both of his friends jerked around to stare at him, twin expressions of surprise and horror on their faces. But Malfoy and Zabini were too close for them to say anything, and so they both sat back, watching him.

    _“A test?”_ Erus asked. _“So soon?”_

    _“Trust is hard to gain,”_ Harry replied softly. _“I think I have theirs, like they have mine, but I don’t_ know _. I need to know.”_

    “Malfoy, Zabini,” Harry said cheerfully. “What a surprise to see you here.”

    “Potter,” Malfoy replied, nodding at Ron and Hermione. “You seemed… Distressed, in Defence. Are you well?”

    Harry smiled. “Thank you for your concern, Malfoy, but I am fine. The one in distress was Erus, actually.”

    Malfoy visibly perked up. “Oh?” he said, glancing towards Harry’s neck. Erus hissed at Malfoy, curling more securely around Harry’s neck. “Is Erus well?”

    “She had a run in,” Harry replied, “with a predator. She was very scared.”

    Malfoy was starting to look pleased, and so Zabini was the next one to speak. “But not, I hope, hurt?” he asked, discreetly nudging Malfoy in the ribs.

    Harry’s smile brightened. “No,” he said. “She is in perfect health. Your concern for Erus is touching, though. I had thought no one but Ron and Hermione liked her much.”

    “Most animals, I find, are easier to handle than people,” Zabini replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But where was she, to have run into a predator?”

    “Why Zabini,” Harry said, tilting his head in a manner that made him look puzzled, “where else would Erus be as unlucky as to run into a predator as in the Forbidden Forest? Do you really think she stays in the castle all day?”

    After that, the two boys left rather quickly, with a parting line that they hoped Erus would feel better soon. Harry smiled in response, content to let them think that Erus was still scared.

    Harry turned to his friends, the smile falling from his face. “Well?” he asked.

    Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. “I don’t think they thought you were lying,” Ron offered.

    “It’s easier to lie to someone if you tell the truth,” Harry replied, looking at Hermione. “But I thought you already knew that.”

    Hermione’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t know you did,” she admitted.

    “Practice,” Harry said with a sharp smile, “makes perfect.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

    When Harry met Erus, he was almost nine years old. After another night of no dinner – punishment for something Harry hadn’t done – Harry was desperately hungry. So he’d snuck out to search for something to eat.

    He was tempted to pick some of Aunt Petunia’s tomatoes – surely she wouldn’t notice two or three gone missing – but he instead turned and left Privet Drive and wandered until he found himself at the park closest to the house.

    Behind the park was a rather dense wood. Harry had heard all sorts of tales about what lay within, but he was hungry and he knew there were bushes of blackberries within the woods. So, ignoring the warnings Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told Dudley, he walked into the woods.

    Harry found the berries he was after, and was about to stuff them in his mouth when someone said, _“That is poison, little one.”_

    Harry, in his shock, whirled around, dropping the berries to the ground. He couldn’t see anyone, but he’d learned that that didn’t mean no one was there.

    “Hello?” he called softly.

    A snake was slithering towards him, but Harry couldn’t see any adults about. He watched the snake come closer, and crouched down so he could see it better in the dim moonlight.

    “Pretty,” he decided, reaching out with a hand to touch the snake.

    _“Do not touch me, little on,”_ the snake hissed, rearing up. Harry was so surprised that he fell backwards.

    “You’re speaking!” he exclaimed, staring with wide eyes at the snake.

    _“Of course I am,”_ the snake said. _“I always speak.”_ And then the snake slithered towards him again. _“But you can understand me. That is odd.”_

    “Odd?” Harry echoed.

    _“Odd,”_ the snake agreed. _“I shall call you listener.”_

    And so Harry made his first friend.

    When Aunt Petunia asked why his clothes were so dirty, Harry didn’t have a lie for her. It got him another punishment, this one more painful than no dinner.

    But Harry thought of his new friend, and suddenly the pain didn’t seem so bad.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “So we can’t get to the Stone,” Ron said. He tapped his brother’s wand absently against the chair he was sitting on. “And that means no one else can?”

    Hermione shook her head. “It means nothing. If Hagrid can get passed Fluffy, someone else can.”

    Harry hummed. “What was he doing in the library?” he asked.

    “Looking at books, I’d expect,” Ron replied.

    Harry glanced at his friend. “But books on _what_?”

    No one had an answer to that, and so Harry decided he needed to go to the library to find out for himself.

    Christmas was fast approaching, most obvious in the steadily worsening weather. The lake froze over, and the temperature throughout the castle dropped drastically. The worse place to be was Professor Snape’s potion classroom, where it grew so cold that they had to huddle around their cauldrons to keep warm.

    A week until the holiday, and all Harry had to be grateful for was the fact that he would not be returning to Privet Drive for Christmas. As soon as he had heard that there was an option to stay, Harry had signed up. He was pleased to see both Ron and Hermione also signing to stay at Hogwarts. Ron had previously said he was returning home for the holidays, but his plans had changed and now he was staying.

    Due to the cold weather, Erus very rarely left his side. She was sluggish and slow, and when Hermione asked whether Erus usually hibernated, Harry just shook his head. Since he had met her, Erus had not once left him alone for more than a week – and that had only been because the Dursley’s had packed the family up to run away from Harry’s letters from Hogwarts.

    Hermione guessed it might have something to do with Harry’s magic, but she was quick to tell him that she’d never read anything on the subject, and that it really _was_ a guess.

    “It would be interesting to see the effects magic has on normal creatures,” she said. “We can’t affect magical creatures as much – they have their own protections, apparently.”

    “My magic wouldn’t hurt her, would it?” Harry asked, abruptly anxious. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was hurt Erus, who had been such a steadfast companion and his best friend for two years.

    Hermione thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. But like I said, I haven’t read anything on the subject.”

    Ron glanced at Harry after a moment of silence. “You think whatever Hagrid was in the library for was important, don’t you?”

    Harry pursed his lips. “I think people rarely do anything without a reason, and I can’t think of a reason Hagrid would need to visit the library. It makes me curious.”

    “Hagrid can’t know everything,” Hermione pointed out. “Maybe he just wanted to read. What will happen then?”

    “Then I will know that Hagrid likes to read, and my curiosity will be satisfied.” Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if it’s part of something bigger – I just like to know.”

    Hermione sighed. “Fine. I suppose we’ll all go down to the library tomorrow morning, will we?”

    “You two don’t have to come,” Harry replied.

    “But we will,” Ron said. “If it comes to it, someone can play distraction, and the other two can see if Hagrid actually borrowed anything.”

    Someone approached them, and the three Slytherins turned to see Tracey nervously stepping towards them. She stopped beside them.

    “H-hello,” she stammered. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

    Harry smiled. “To you as well, Tracey. Are you staying over the holidays?”

    She shook her head. “No. My dad wants to see me over the holidays.”

    “That sounds fantastic,” Harry replied.

    “Yes, I – Since my mum passed away, it’s just been the two of us. I can’t leave him alone on Christmas.”

    “But it’s good that you have someone to spend it with,” Ron said.

    Tracey nodded. “Yes. I just… Wanted to wish you a happy holiday.” She smiled at them and turned to walk away, returning to her own circle of friends.

    “Awfully nice of her,” Harry said.

    _“Too nice,”_ Erus hissed.

    Hermione nodded, her eyes narrowed as she studied Tracey. “Another motive?”

    “No, she just wanted to wish us a happy holiday,” Ron said, exasperated. “Come on, you two. Surely you’ve met someone who was just… _Nice_?”

    Harry shrugged. “No,” he replied easily.

    “I’ve never had time for people,” Hermione replied with a sniff. “Too many books to read, so many things to know.”

    Ron sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he muttered. And then he focused again, pinning the two of them with an expectant look. “You’re getting presents,” he informed them.

    “I know. My parents are sending the presents I get here,” Hermione replied, looking at Ron like he was being silly.

    Ron shook his head. “My mum wrote to me,” he explained. “She’s sending you both something.”

    “Oh.” Hermione blinked. “But she doesn’t know us,” she said, sounding confused.

    Harry was beyond confused. His family had never gotten him anything for Christmas, certainly not anything that could be considered a present… Did friends give each other gifts? He didn’t know, because he’d never had friends other than Erus, and the snake had never understood the idea behind Christmas.

    “Yes, but you guys are my friends,” Ron explained. “She’s happy I have some. I think she expected me to be pretty hated in Slytherin.”

    “You are,” Hermione pointed out bluntly.

    Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re both getting a present,” he repeated. “Alright?”

    “Fine,” Hermione said. “But I haven’t gotten either of you two anything.”

    Waving his hand, Ron replied, “It’s okay. We can get each other gifts next year. Right, Harry?”

    The two glanced towards him, perhaps realizing he’d been oddly silent. He wasn’t really sure what expression his face was showing, but they both looked alarmed.

    “It’s okay if you don’t celebrate Christmas,” Hermione said quickly.

    “I can write to mum and tell her not to send you anything,” Ron added, nodding madly.

    _“Speaker, they are misunderstanding.”_

    Harry shook his head. “I – I’ve never celebrated Christmas before,” he admitted quietly, averting his eyes from his friends’ faces. “I don’t… I don’t know how.”

    He could vaguely remember moments of the Dursley’s Christmas parties, but they had been filled with strangers and fake smiles and expensive, unfeeling gifts that everyone had fluttered and fawned over. This didn’t sound like how Ron knew Christmas, nor Hermione.

    “I understand the exchanging of presents,” he added quickly, his jaw clenching for a moment, “but I haven’t done it before.”

    His friends were silent, and for a moment Harry thought he’d made a mistake, that they were embarrassed to know him, the boy who didn’t know how to celebrate Christmas…

    All at once, he had two sets of arms around his shoulders, a head on each shoulder. Harry, appropriately bewildered, froze in surprise.

    The hug lasted for a while, until Hermione and Ron pulled back. Harry blinked at them, tilting his head questioningly.

    Hermione smiled – he didn’t think he’d ever seen such a soft expression on her face. “It’s alright, Harry,” she said. “You can start now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sacrificing phone data again, hope you all enjoy :3


	14. Christmas and an Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You aren't obligated to be anyone's cure._

    Christmas morning dawned, and Harry woke to find a small pile of presents at the end of his bed. Harry, for a long moment, couldn’t move. Sure, Ron had said his mother would send something, but he hadn’t _really_ expected…

    “Merry Christmas,” Ron said, sitting up with a yawn. His eyes landed on Harry’s face, and he smiled. It was just the two of them, since most of the Slytherin House, including Zabini, had gone home for the holidays. “Are you going to open them?”

    And so Harry, with a curious Erus coiled around his throat, got up to do just that.

    The first present was from Hagrid, and Harry spared a moment to dwell on the gratitude that welled in his chest before he opened it. It was a crude wooden carving of a snake, something that Hagrid had obviously taken the time to create himself. He’d even painted on a zig zag pattern.

    Harry showed the present to both Ron and Erus, who decided she quite liked the wooden replica of herself and spent the rest of the morning hissing quietly to it.

    Next as a square package – it was from Hermione, and when Harry opened it he found a book entitled _“The Effects of Magic on Mundane Beasts”_. A burst of surprised laughter leapt from Harry’s throat when he read the little note attached:

_Harry,_  
_I know you were worried, so I searched everywhere I could think of to find this. Don’t worry – I haven’t read it. I look forward to hearing all about the subject from you._  
_Hermione_

    Ron shook his head. “Awfully nice of her. You’ll have to thank her when we go down.”

    Harry nodded, already pulling out the next present – a very oddly shaped, lumpy parcel. Ron groaned when he saw it.

    “I wrote to my mum again,” he explained when Harry looked questioningly at him. “I told her you’d never received a Christmas present before…”

    Harry hesitated, before very carefully opening the parcel. An emerald jumper fell into his lap, along with a box of what looked like fudge. Harry opened the box, taking a nibble out of one piece. Yes, definitely fudge.

    “She’s made you a Weasley jumper,” Ron said. “She makes one for each of us every year, and mine is _always_ –” He cut himself off, looking oddly at the jumper than fell into his lap. It was a few shades darker than Harry’s, and with a silver R on it.

    “What’s the matter?” Harry asked quietly.

    “Mine is always _maroon_ ,” Ron finished, reaching out to touch the green jumper in his lap.

    Harry smiled. “I suppose she realized maroon didn’t really suit you,” he said.

    Ron glanced up at him, fingers rubbing absently at the jumper. “I suppose she did,” he replied, a sharp smile crossing his face. He shook himself. “You only have one more present. Open it up, and we’ll head down to see Hermione and go to breakfast.”

    Harry picked up the last package, and was a little puzzled to find it so light. As carefully as he had opened the present from Mrs Weasley, he opened the last present.

    Something silvery and soft landed in his lap, gleaming in the light. It looked to be some sort of cloak, and when Harry touched it, he thought of water. Ron gasped, recognition on his face.

    “What is it?” Harry asked, gaze flicking between Ron and the cloak.

    Ron swallowed. “I – I _think_ it’s an Invisibility Cloak.” He met Harry’s eye. “They’re really rare, and valuable. You – you have to try it on.”

    And so Harry stood, pulling the cloak over his shoulders.

    Erus, who had been hissing to her wooden replica, happened to look over at him. She recoiled, her body arching up in a threatening manner and a low, dangerous hiss issuing from her mouth.

    Harry glanced down at himself, and was somewhat amazed to find his entire body was invisible. He looked at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open.

    Then Harry spied the note on the floor, and picked it up to read it.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._  
_It is time it was returned to you._  
_Use it well._  
_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

    The note was not signed.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Harry didn’t know how to feel, knowing the Cloak had once belonged to his father. So he put the information aside, pulling his new jumper on and following Ron downstairs, the Cloak hidden safely beneath his pillow.

    Erus had consented to leave her replica in Harry’s room while she herself accompanied him downstairs.

    _“I had not realized gifts could be so… nice,”_ she said to Harry as they made their way to the Slytherin table. Hermione had left before them, leaving a note that Ron had found.

    Harry nodded in agreement. _“I think I like presents,”_ he replied. _“We will have to think hard about what to get Ron and Hermione next year…”_

    Hermione had spotted them and was waiting for them impatiently. “Well?” she demanded as they sat down. The Great Hall was oddly empty, with most of the students having gone home for the holidays. The Gryffindor table was perhaps the most filled – and only because the three Weasley brothers had also stayed, in addition to the twins’ friend Lee Jordan, Dean from their flying lesson, and Seamus Finnigan.

    Fred and George waved jovially at him when they spotted Harry, and neither of their smiles dimmed when Ron glanced their way and turned straight back to his plate.

    Hermione cleared her throat. “Well?” she repeated.

    Harry smiled. “Thank you for the book, Hermione,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

    “Yes, well.” Hermione suddenly seemed fascinated with the plate in front of her. “I’m glad you liked it. Have you had a chance to read it?”

    “No, but I will,” Harry assured her.

    “Thanks for the sweets,” Ron said, helping himself to the breakfast that had popped up in front of them. “I’ll share them with you both – you got me so many, Hermione.”

    “They’re your present,” Harry protested. Were presents meant to be shared? He didn’t think so, but maybe he was wrong.

   "And since they're mine, I want to share them with you," Ron replied firmly.

    Hermione changed the subject by eyeing their jumpers. "I like your jumpers," she said. "Did your mother make them, Ron?"

    He nodded. “Does it every year. Fred and George will have swapped theirs around, and Percy's has a P on it."

    Harry raised an eyebrow. "I take it P doesn't stand for Percy in this case."

    "Prefect Percy," Ron spat, his face contorting in rage. "Mum was so happy to get the letter."

    Harry turned again to study Percy. The older boy was obviously being pestered by the twins, and the annoyance on his freckled face was clear.

    "I bet he'll end up working for the Ministry," Ron added. "He'll love it too, I don't doubt it."

    Hermione frowned. "Is that a bad thing?" she asked curiously.

    Ron blinked, looking at her before glancing at Harry. Realization flashed across his face, and he sighed.

    "Of course you two wouldn't understand," he muttered. "You don't have brothers or sisters."

     "Explain it, then," Harry said, turning back to study the three Weasley brothers. "So that we can understand."

    "There are seven of us, right?" Ron began. "Seven Weasley kids. There's Bill - he's a curse breaker. He's in Egypt at the moment. There's Charlie - he works with dragons. He's in Romania, and that's why we're here for Christmas. Mum and dad have gone to visit him.

    "There's Prefect Percy," Ron continued, anger returning to his face and tone, "who is excellent at school. There's Fred and George, the family jokers. There's Ginny, the only girl. And then there's me."

    "You think you're nothing compared to them," Harry said, abruptly understanding.

    "Don't you get it?" Ron hissed. "I _am_ nothing."

    Harry wasn't sure where the urge came from, but between one breath and the next, Harry had seized Ron's face and whispered, "You _will_ be something."

    _"We will make it so,"_ hissed Erus, her head moving from side to side in a manner that was hypnotic.

    Ron swallowed. "If you say so, Harry," he said, his voice a little strained.

    Harry released his friend's face, turning to eye Hermione. "The same to you," he said. "Although I don't think you'll want my help, will you?"

    Hermione smiled as Harry imagined a shark would - all teeth, the sharp amusement of a predator. "I would never turn down an offer of help from a friend," she replied.

   "Besides," Harry said, taking a piece of toast for himself. "I already think you're something."  He munched on the toast for a moment, rolling his eyes at the confusion in Ron’s face. “You are my friend, second only to Erus,” he explained with a sunny smile. “And to me, that’s more than enough.”

    _“But he wants to_ be _more,”_ Erus whispered. _“Friend is not enough.”_

    Harry glanced again at the Weasley brothers, still arguing at the Gryffindor table. _“It will have to be for now,”_ he replied. _“There is truly nothing I can give him now.”_

    Erus coiled more tightly around his throat. _“But later…”_

    _“Later,”_ Harry agreed with a small smile. He could do that for Ron… For his friend.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Harry, Ron and Hermione all found out, quite by accident, exactly what Hagrid had been reading about at the library.

    Christmas had been and gone, and exams were fast approaching. Hermione was a flurry of nervous energy, demanding Ron and Harry’s attention as she recited spells and facts. Her insistent repetition was starting to rub off on Ron – when Harry had asked aloud who Elfric the Eager was, not really expecting an answer, he was stunned to hear Ron reply almost instantly. Ron had looked as surprised as Harry felt.

    The Slytherin common room was once again populated with people, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little upset that he and his friends had lost the privacy they had had over the holidays. No longer could they discuss the uses of Alihotsy leaves, bloodroot and the syrup of Arnica. No longer could they debate the true difference between Light and Dark, if only because their peers would undoubtedly have things to add.

    No longer could they talk of a dream world where it didn’t matter what your blood status was, where there was no ‘Light’ and no ‘Dark’.

    It had been some time since they’d visited Hagrid, and so they decided that a surprise visit wouldn’t be unappreciated. The three of them had taken leave of the Slytherin common room, and were on their way to Hagrid’s hut when they walked into Professor Snape.

    The trio had seen nothing of their Head of House over the break, which would have made them curious if it was not already well known that Professor Snape was a private man. To have run into him after seeing him so little was a surprise, and Ron actually jumped at the sight of the surly professor.

    “Afternoon, Professor Snape,” Hermione said politely. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

    Professor Snape’s lip curled slightly. “It was… Acceptable,” he replied. His dark eyes flickered between the three of them. “Should you not, perhaps, be completing your homework, rather than frolicking outside?”

    “We had to get Hermione outside,” Harry said. “She’s been nonstop studying for a good week – we thought she could use a break.” Ron nodded in agreement while Hermione shot him a sharp look.

    Professor Snape looked at them, considering. “And where were you off too?”

    Harry smiled brightly. “We’re going to see Hagrid,” he explained. “I have to thank him for my present – he gave me a wonderful carving of Erus, which she absolutely –”

    “I see,” Professor Snape interrupted, looking as though he regretted asking. “I will not keep you, then.”

    Harry had learned quickly that Professor Snape had no patience for mindless chatter, and when the three friends needed to be free of his watchful eyes, he employed his mouth to chase the man away.

    _“One day,”_ Erus said as Professor Snape stalked away, _“he is going to catch on.”_

    _“But not today,”_ Harry replied easily.

    “He’s fond of looking down on us, isn’t he?” Ron asked, eyes narrowed.

    Hermione tossed her hair and snorted. “We are, after all, only children.”

    Harry laughed. “Only children,” he repeated wonderingly.

    They’d reached Hagrid’s hut, and so knocked on the door. Fang was, oddly, outside in the shade of a tree, too tired from the warmth of the day to come and say hello.

    “Who is it?” Hagrid shouted, and it took him some time to open the door for them.

    Inside Hagrid’s hut, it was stiflingly hot. Despite the warmth of the day, the fireplace was lit with a roaring fire. When Harry took a moment to peer into the dancing flames, he was astonished to see a something large and black nestled in the flames.

    “Oh,” Harry said, before Hagrid even had a chance to offer them tea, “so _that’s_ what you were reading up on in the library before Christmas.”

    Ron and Hermione followed his gaze. “Bloody hell,” Ron said, his voice full of awe. “Where’d you get it? It must have cost you a fortune.”

    Hagrid shook his head. “Won it.”

    Hermione raised an eyebrow. “And exactly what are you going to do with the dragon when it hatches?” she inquired.

    “Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” Hagrid replied. When he pulled out a large book titled _Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ , Hermione sighed.

    “You’re planning on keeping it,” she said. It wasn’t a question, and Harry blinked as he studied Hagrid’s hut.

    “Well,” Hagrid said, looking uncomfortable. “I’ve bin lookin’ after it fer a while now… I don’t think it’d be right to just give it up.”

    “Not to mention,” Ron added, his eyes sharp on Hagrid’s face, “an opportunity like this won’t come again.”

    “Hagrid,” Hermione said, sounding as though she was trying to be patient. Harry thought she missed her mark just a bit. “You live in a _wooden house_.”

    That was an excellent point. Harry wondered briefly if there were any ways to fire-proof Hagrid’s hut, at least until they convinced the giant of a man to find a new home for the dragon.

    Which would be done – Hagrid had endeared himself to Harry enough that the thought of the man hurting himself or getting in trouble made Harry angry.

    “What I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

    Therefore increasing the likelihood of Hagrid wanting to keep it.

    “Hagrid,” Harry said, “Hermione’s right. You live in a wooden house. Dragons breathe fire. Can you see a potential problem?”

    Hagrid shook his head. “I can train it,” he replied. “After all, yeh have Erus.”

    “The difference is that I can communicate with her,” Harry said, eyeing the man. “No one knows if dragons actually speak a language, and if they do, we can’t learn it. You cannot expect to treat it as you treat Fang – this dragon will be no dog.”

    “Not to mention that if anyone finds out about your dragon, they’ll take it from you and you’ll probably be punished,” Hermione interjected. She paused for a moment before shaking her head. “There’s no probably about it – it’s against the law, Hagrid!”

    Ron nodded in agreement. “Everyone knows that dragon-breeding was outlawed in 1709 by the Warlocks’ Convention.”

    Hagrid looked crestfallen. “But he’ll be a baby,” he protested. “He’ll die if I jus’ let him go.”

    _“Doesn’t your friend have a brother?”_ Erus hissed.

    Harry cocked an eyebrow. _“Ron has several brothers, but I know which one you are referring to.”_ He glanced at Ron. “Could we send Hagrid’s dragon to Charlie?”

    Everyone seemed pleased by this arrangement, even Hagrid, who Harry suspected would grow attached to the dragon even in the few weeks he expected the man to have it.

    Harry, Ron and Hermione left Hagrid’s after Hagrid agreed to write to them to let them know of the dragon’s hatching. Given that the dragon had been kept warm for months, Hagrid told them to expect a letter within the next few weeks. Hermione told him to use Dia to deliver the message to them.

    Once they left, Harry looked at Hermione. “Are you sure you want them to be able to trace the dragon back to us?” he asked.

    Hermione rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “If you trust Hagrid, I do as well. I’ve already established that you are a much better judge of people than I am.”

    The show of trust from Hermione stopped him short, and Harry spent a good minute staring at Hermione before he murmured a simple thank you.

    _“Clever friends,”_ Erus hissed, flicking her tongue out at Hermione. _“You chose well, speaker.”_


	15. It Hatches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You're only as lucky as your expectations are low._

    It was only a week later that Dia arrived at lunch with a two-word note: _It’s hatching_.

    The note was destroyed in a burst of blue fire, and Hermione glanced at the two of them grimly. “I suppose it’s time.”

    Ron shook his head. “I haven’t heard back from Charlie yet,” he said.

    “Hagrid won’t want to leave it in the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione pointed out.

    Harry watched the Slytherin table, eyes sharp for eavesdroppers. Erus was watching too, her tongue tasting the air, searching for any misplaced curiosity. Instead of just looking at the Slytherin table, though, she was watching what she could see of the Great Hall.

    _“The one you call Snape is watching,”_ Erus hissed suddenly. _“He reeks of curiosity. The not-mouse one is also watching.”_

    Ever since the incident with the troll, Erus had started referring to Professor Quirrell as ‘the mouse’. Harry, after realizing who she was talking about, had demanded she stop – Professor Quirrell, for all that he acted the part, was no mouse. He remembered the sharp pain that grew from his scar every time their gazes met and held.

    _“What does he taste like?”_ Harry hissed back, still observing the Slytherin table.

    Erus hissed quietly, wordlessly. _“I do not know,”_ she admitted. _“The scent is unfamiliar to me.”_

    “We’ll have to go see him during our last break,” Hermione said, glancing at Harry for confirmation.

    He nodded slowly. “We could go then… Or we could go tonight.”

    _That_ got their attention. “Tonight?” Hermione repeated. “You mean _after_ curfew?”

    “Harry,” Ron began, but Harry shook his head and Ron stopped.

    “I have the Cloak,” he said, “and while I imagine Hagrid would be unhappy with us, I think it would be better to go when there are less witnesses.”

    Hermione looked doubtful. “Will we all fit under the cloak?”

    “There’s only one way to find out,” Harry replied. “But you won’t be coming.”

    Looking offended, Hermione cocked an eyebrow. “And why not?” she demanded, her voice frosty.

    Ron grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, that’s a good point.” Hermione turned a glare to him, and he hurried to explain. “Zabini has taken a leaf out of Malfoy’s book – he’s been more tolerant of Harry and I than usual. Your dorm mates, however…” Ron trailed off. “If you go missing, they’ll notice. Blackmail seems the way they’ll go.”

    “I can handle –” Hermione began, her eyes flashing dangerously.

    Harry cut her off. “This way, you won’t need to.”

    Ron had not, as Harry had assumed, guessed the correct reason Harry wanted to have Hermione stay behind. It didn’t really matter, because Ron had brought up an excellent point – but at some point, he would have to let Hermione know the real reason he wanted her to stay behind.

    He was sure it would make her anger disappear.

    Lunch ended, and the three Slytherins made their way to their next class.

    _“Is it wise?”_ Erus asked. _“What you will be asking of your Hermione – you could easily do it yourself, and the results are assured.”_

    _“Hermione,”_ Harry replied easily, _“has already shown her trust in me. I need to show my trust in her, to keep the balance between us.”_

    Erus scoffed as he took a seat, pulling out his match and absently tapping it with the tip of his wand. _“There is no balance,”_ she said. _“You are the superior hunter – you have proved yourself many times.”_

    Harry’s eyes were focused on nothing, his stare blank as he considered what Erus was saying. _“This is different,”_ he finally replied. _“You yourself have said that Hermione is smart – I don’t need someone like that against me.”_

    _“So you will keep her happy, to keep her with you?”_ Erus asked.

    _“I will certainly do my best,”_ Harry replied with a sharp nod.

    “ _Harry_ ,” Ron hissed, and Harry turned to glance at him. “How are you doing that?”

    Harry, honestly puzzled, tilted his head questioningly. “Doing what?”

    Hermione was the one who answered, a faint wariness to her voice that made Harry concerned. “Look at your match, Harry.”

    He did as she said, and was astonished to see that, as he’d been tapping the match with his wand, the object had been switching back and forth between a match and a needle. He stopped tapping immediately, his brow furrowed. Glancing at his wand, he pursed his lips and ran his fingers over the length.

    _“See?”_ Erus said smugly. _“You are the more powerful one here.”_

    _“I don’t want power,”_ Harry replied, thoroughly unsettled by the ease of magic. As far as he knew, wordless magic was extremely difficult – although he was sure that this was just a form of accidental magic. _“Power alone will only get someone so far.”_

    Erus made a low humming noise. _“So you need friends.”_

    Harry looked to the front of the room, where Professor McGonagall had finally started her lesson. She looked a little harried, strands of her hair hanging free from her usually tight bun.

    _“I don’t want to be lonely anymore,”_ he said softly.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “Ron made a good point about why you should stay, but I had something else in mind when I said it.”

    Ron blinked. “I did?”

    “What did you have in mind?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

    Harry smiled. “Oh, I hope you’ll like this. I need you to speak with the Ravenclaw prefect. Her name is Penelope Clearwater.”

    Hermione didn’t look any less suspicious, although she did look a little confused. “Why?”

    Harry didn’t say anything – he simply inclined his head to where the prefect in question was emerging from the Restricted Section.

    “Oh,” Ron breathed, and this time Harry was sure he’d understood.

    He watched the understanding light Hermione’s eyes and smiled. “I hope you’ll have much to tell us tomorrow,” he said.

    Hermione was watching the prefect in an almost predatory way. “I’m sure I will,” Hermione said.

    Ron frowned. “She’s not going to tell you everything in a few hours,” he pointed out. “What exactly do you plan to find out?”

    “You’ll see,” Hermione replied, smiling mysteriously. She stood up. “I’ll start now, Harry. You two can discuss tonight’s plans without me.” With a flick of her hair, she trotted after the Ravenclaw prefect.

    The two boys watched her go. “She won’t get much,” Ron insisted.

    “She’s clever,” Harry replied without looking at him. “And she’s only a child. What could a child do with the information?”

    _“You want her to be underestimated?”_ Erus asked curiously. _“Is it not better that people know you are the strongest? The smartest?”_

    Ron cocked an eyebrow, and Harry repeated her questions for him, considering his answer.

    However, Ron beat him to it. “It’s better to be underestimated,” he said slowly, as though it had just occurred to him. “People won’t see you coming.”

    “They won’t suspect you either,” Harry added. “Besides, they can afford to underestimate us.”

    Erus looked him dead in the eye. _“And who,”_ she asked, _“are_ they _?”_

    Without thinking about it, Harry replied, _“Anyone who isn’t on our side.”_

    “Potter,” someone drawled, and Harry found himself surprised when Zabini fell into the chair across from him and Ron. Malfoy was quick to follow – although Malfoy could hardly be expected to _fall_ into chair – leaving Crabbe and Goyle standing awkwardly behind the blonde Slytherin.

    Harry pasted a smile on his face. “Malfoy, Zabini. Crabbe, Goyle. How are you this afternoon?”

    Malfoy glanced around. “Well, thank you. Where is your little muggleborn friend?”

    “She had other business to attend to,” Harry replied smoothly, hearing Ron grit his teeth. _At least,_ Harry thought to himself, _he didn’t call her a mudblood._

    “I see,” Malfoy said, sounding thoughtful. He focused, his pale eyes landing on Harry’s face. “How are you going with your work? I must say, the professors have certainly given us much to do. The holidays were nowhere near as fun as I had hoped, given all the work we were expected to complete.”

    “And yet,” Zabini drawled, interrupting before Harry could respond, “you still managed to find time to attend the Parkinson’s garden party.”

    Malfoy’s cheeks turned pale pink. “Only for a short while,” he replied quickly. He straightened, his expression smoothing over. “I expect that you’ve finished all your work, then?” he asked, looking again to Harry.

    “All that has been given so far,” Harry said when it became clear Zabini wouldn’t be interrupting again. “But the amount of work hardly seems like a chore – I much prefer it to doing nothing.” _Or attending garden parties,_ he thought to himself.

    Zabini smirked. “And you, Weasley?” Ron jumped, surprised at being addressed at all. “How are you going with your work?”

    “I’ve finished as well,” Ron replied.

    “With help from Potter and Granger, no doubt,” Zabini said, lazy smirk still on his face.

    Ron narrowed his eyes. “There’s no shame in accepting help when it is required,” he said, echoing the words Hermione had said to him the first time he’d lost his temper and shouted at them that he hadn’t needed their help.

    Harry smiled to himself, but his expression darkened considerably when Zabini replied with, “On the contrary – not having the strength to get things done yourself is rather embarrassing. Perhaps that is why your mother –”

    “Say one more word, Zabini,” Harry said pleasantly. Around his throat, Erus hissed threateningly. “Please.”

    Zabini cut himself off, sitting back abruptly in his chair. Ron, Harry was pleased to see, seemed to have better control of his temper.

    That was, until he said, “Speaking of mothers, I’ve heard yours has quite the… _reputation._ Don’t they call her the Widow?”

    Zabini visibly paled before regaining his composure. Malfoy shot his friend – perhaps they were less than that, after all – a look before turning to Ron. “Indeed they do, and for a very good reason. Zabini inherited many things from her.”

    The subtle threat made Erus hiss again, moving swiftly down Harry’s arm. The adder slithered across the desk, her striking markings standing out against the wood, and reared up, flashing her fangs in Zabini’s face.

    Harry accidentally giggled when Zabini fell out of his chair, his face paler than it had gone before. _“Easy there, Erus,”_ he hissed, reaching over to pick her up gently. _“We want to be underestimated, remember?”_

    _“I don’t,”_ she hissed back, coiling herself back around his throat.

    “I had thought,” Harry began, “that we agreed to be friends. This is not the kind of behaviour I would tolerate from my friends.”

    Ron nodded. “I wouldn’t either.”

    Harry stared at Malfoy. “Perhaps you came today to tell me that we are no longer friends,” he said thoughtfully. “I can’t think of another reason you would come here, obviously looking to offend my friend.”

    “And it’s not as if you don’t have the authority, the social standing,” Ron added, his blue eyes glittering, “to tell Zabini not to insult us.” His smile was mocking. “Or does the great Malfoy name mean so little?”

    Erus hissed a laugh while Harry worked to keep the amused smile off his face. Malfoy looked furious, but the mention of his family name made him start, as though he were remembering something he’d forgotten.

    “Ron and I will be absent from our room this evening,” Harry said, watching the way the other Slytherins’ faces morphed into interest. “Please prove to us that you truly do wish that you want to put this current nastiness behind us.”

    “Or else what?” Zabini asked, sounding bored.

    Harry let his face become blank. _“Or else I will teach you to never again bark without permission,”_ he hissed, secretly revelling in the way the taller boy actually leaned away, wariness in his golden eyes. Harry picked up his quill. “I hope I will not have to do that,” he continued, watching the other Slytherins pale. “I could get in trouble.”

    They couldn’t have understood what he’d said, but they knew Hermione was a walking dictionary of spells. They had likely noticed Harry’s accidental magic in Transfiguration, and the two things combined would hopefully make it so that, whatever Harry _had_ said in Parseltongue, they would interpret it as the threat it was and act accordingly.

    “Now, if that was all,” Harry said, rising to his feet, “we will leave you now. I look forward,” he met each of the boys’ eyes, “to continuing our friendship.”

    With that, he and Ron left the library.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    “Do you really think it will be enough?” Ron whispered. He and Harry were awake, while Zabini filled the room with soft snores.

    Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. “It will have to be, because we have no time for anything else,” Harry replied just as quietly. “Slytherins are smart, Ron. Regardless of what I actually said, they’ll see it as a threat. Which is good,” he continued thoughtfully, shaking out the beautiful fabric, “because I fully intended for it to be.”

    He glanced at Ron. “You have the letter?”

    Ron pulled it out of his pocket. “Right here.”

    Ron’s brother Charlie had owled them back rather quickly, considering he was in Romania at the time. The owl had only arrived late that evening, as dinner was about to end. Ron had shoved the letter into Harry’s hands after reading it, and Harry was quite pleased with what he read.

    “Saturday,” he mused, “will be another late night.”

    Ron snorted quietly, moving to huddle under the Cloak with Harry. “I hope you don’t plan on announcing that to Zabini as well. We have to keep some secrets.”

    “The more he thinks we want to be friends,” Harry said quietly as they made their way towards Hagrid’s hut, “the more likely he is to trust us.”

    “Why would we want him to trust us?” Ron demanded, sounding frustrated. “You sound like you’re planning a war.”

    Harry smiled. “Perhaps I will, one day,” he replied musingly. And then he shook his head. “But that is something for the future, I imagine. If I did,” Harry continued, turning to stare at Ron, “would you still stand beside me?”

    Ron considered that for a long moment. Harry was content to walk in silence – Erus, for all that she was pretending to be asleep, would benefit from Ron’s answer more than Harry would.

    “That would depend,” Ron replied slowly, “on why.”

    The two boys moved to press against the wall when they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Heart racing with anticipation, Harry glared as he watched Argus Filch limp around the corner, trailed by his cat, Mrs Norris.

    Had Filch been a wizard, Harry would have considered Mrs Norris a familiar – but he had never seen the old man perform any magic, and he was always forced to chase troublemakers around. Harry suspected him of being a squib, personally, after reading about squibs in one of Hermione’s library books.

    For a single, heart-stopping moment, Harry thought they were going to get caught. Mrs Norris turned her bright, lamp yellow eyes towards them and meowed.

    The fear turned into exasperation when Erus commented, _“Such a polite creature. I will have to speak with her again.”_

    Harry stifled a groan. Of all the creatures within the castle, Erus had made friends with Filch’s cat.


	16. Another One Bites The Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Worse than having too many secrets is having no secrets at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other potential titles: "Pansy Gets Served", "Snake Talk"

    After Filch and Mrs Norris had passed, Harry and Ron wasted no more time in getting to Hagrid’s. Hermione had sent him a letter explaining what was happening with Dia, so the two boys were unsurprised to see Hagrid’s windows filled with light. 

    They knocked once, and Hagrid was quick to let them in. He wrung his hands as the two of them came into view. 

    “I don’ know about this,” he whispered. “Norbert likes it here – ye can’t be seriously thinkin’ of takin’ him away.” 

    “Hagrid,” Harry replied coolly. “Breeding dragons is against the law. You could be sent to Azkaban.” 

    “You won’t be able to take care of it in secret either,” Ron said. “You can’t just let it free in the Forbidden Forest. Someone is bound to notice.” He pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to Hagrid. “I got a reply from Charlie.” 

    Hagrid opened the letter. “What did he say?” 

    Ron replied, “He said he’s more than happy to get… Norbert to Romania.” 

    “Romania,” Hagrid repeated. “That’s a long away, innit?” 

    “Norbert will be safer there, with his own kind,” Harry pointed out. “And _you_ will not be going to Azkaban.” 

    Hagrid looked at Harry, his eyes full of tears. “I won’ be able to visit,” he said. 

    Ron stepped forward, placing a hand on Hagrid’s arm. “This is the best option,” Ron said quietly. 

    Harry understood the gesture. He even understood why it was needed. It offered comfort, understanding. He didn’t particularly understand _how_ – it was such a simple gesture, and it could easily be used to manipulate. 

    If he didn’t understand how, he had no hope of understanding why Hagrid reacted by starting to cry, great tears falling from his eyes and disappearing into his thick beard. Harry watched, keeping his face blank as he analysed the scene in front of him. 

    “It’s alright,” Ron said quietly, throwing a glance at Harry as though asking for help. But something in Harry’s face must have given away his confusion, because Ron turned back to Hagrid. “I’ll ask Charlie to send you letters about Norbert. Does that sound okay?” 

    Hagrid nodded, but he continued to cry. “I’m jus’ gonna miss him!” the man wailed, and there was a muted sound of animalistic annoyance from the fireplace. 

    Harry had wondered whether Hagrid was keeping the dragon inside his hut, but he hadn’t seen any sign of it and so had assumed Hagrid had found a safer place for it. This safer place, however, had been outside the hut. 

    Erus hissed somewhat threateningly, her slitted eyes pinned to the dragon as it crawled out from Hagrid’s fireplace. _“_ _Come no closer, young one,”_ she hissed. 

    The dragon jerked to look at her, its bright eyes pinned to the snake around Harry’s throat. Harry had a moment to wish she hadn’t called attention to herself when she was in such a delicate place before the dragon pounced. 

    The only sound Harry made was when his back hit the floor; a grunt as the air was forced from his body. Winded, he had enough sense not to struggle underneath the dragon, especially not with its claws pressed firmly against his shoulders. 

    Erus unravelled herself, flashing her gleaming fangs at the dragon. _“My bite is poison, young one,”_ she said warningly, her head swaying from side to side. _“Release my speaker.”_  

    The dragon tilted its head curiously. _“Speaker?”_ the dragon repeated, and Harry’s mouth dropped open. 

    The dragon spoke the language of the snakes. How was that possible? 

    _“You are not a snake,”_ Erus said, almost stopping her threat display in surprise. _“How can you speak?”_  

    The dragon snorted, settling back on its haunches. Its sharp claws dug into Harry’s shoulders, and he wisely decided to continue staying very still. The dragon regarded him again curiously, and Harry thought that maybe it was feeling the steady beat of his heart and wondering why he wasn’t afraid. 

    _“Dragons know many languages,”_ the dragon hissed back, golden eyes still focused on Harry. _“I am not as young as you presume me to be.”_  

    “Hagrid,” Ron said, his voice tight, “get your dragon off Harry.” 

    Harry shook his head quickly. “It’s fine, Ron,” he told his friend absently, studying the dragon in the same manner it studied him. 

    _“You hatched from your egg mere hours ago,”_ Erus told the dragon. 

    _“But I have been aware for years.”_  

    Erus settled closer to Harry, her body still tensed to strike. _“What do you want, young one?”_  

    The dragon blinked, its scaly lids clicking together audibly. _“Why do you think I want something, small protector?”_  

    If Erus thought anything of the nickname, she didn’t say anything. _“You are still sitting on my speaker,”_ she said. _“You will get off.”_  

    “Harry?” Ron asked tersely. “We’ll have to leave soon. Someone is bound to notice we’re missing.” 

    The dragon looked at Ron curiously before returning its attention to Harry. _“Speak, then,”_ it hissed. _“And I shall let you rise.”_  

    Harry raised an eyebrow. _“What would you have me say, dragon?”_  

    _“Oh. You are not the one I will kill.”_ The dragon jumped off Harry immediately, and the relief Harry felt at being able to breathe properly again was second only to his confusion. _“I apologise.”_  

    _“Who is the one you will kill?”_ Harry asked. 

    The dragon regarded him again. _“I was not meant to be taken from my clutch,”_ it replied abruptly. _“_ _A speaker, one whose voice I shall remember until he is dead, stole me from my mother. I have been… Waiting to hatch.”_  

    Harry sat up. _“I am sorry,”_ he said, and he was. He suspected that the dragon’s mother would have been nothing like the Dursley’s, and that made his chest ache. In the deepest parts of himself, Harry knew he would never understand what a mother’s love actually meant. 

    The dragon snorted. _“I will kill my kidnapper, and then return to my family.”_  

    Harry pursed his lips. _“You cannot stay here,”_ he said, and he could see the fury that sentence inspired in the dragon, so he hurriedly continued. _“I know of a man who works with dragons, in a place called Romania. He is sending people to take you there – they have a colony of your species.”_  

    Regarding him suspiciously, the dragon stepped back towards him. _“You would return me to my family? Freely?”_  

    _“I don’t know if they_ are _your family,”_ Harry explained, shaking his head, _“but it would be better for you to be with your own kind. Especially if you wish to kill the other speaker.”_  

    Erus made a noise of agreement. _“They can advise you,”_ she said. _“Help you come up with an appropriate… Method.”_  

    “Harry,” Ron repeated. “We need to leave.” 

    The dragon’s eyes seemed to capture his. _“Very well,”_ it replied. _“I will permit to be taken to this…_ colony _. But be warned, speaker – the enemy who abducted me is close, and he_ hungers _.”_  

    Harry’s brow furrowed. _“Why would I have to worry?”_  

    _“Because his hunger is intertwined with yours,”_ the dragon replied. _“Thank you for speaking with me. You may come again to visit.”_ With a cheerful chirp, and what seemed to be a playful nip at Harry’s shoes, the dragon turned and settled itself back into the fire. 

    “Well,” Harry said, standing up and dusting himself off. “That was interesting. I had no idea dragons could speak Parseltongue.” 

    “I don’t think anyone did, Harry,” Ron replied, something odd making his voice sound different. Harry glanced at him, eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t read the expression on his friend’s face. It didn’t appear to be negative, so he let it go. 

    “The dragon is more than happy to be transported to Romania,” Harry told them. “It seems to think its family may be there.” 

    “That’s… That’s good, then. Norbert’ll have some family.” Hagrid nodded to himself, before seeming to remember that it was very late, and the two boys were still in his hut. “I wish ye’d sent me an owl earlier,” he said, frowning as he watched the two of them gather their things. 

    Ron flashed him a smile. “If we had have done that, you wouldn’t have let us come.” 

    Harry nodded. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” he added, and with that he threw the Cloak over himself and Ron, and the two boys left Hagrid’s hut. 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    Hermione gaped at them. “You’re making that up,” she said, her voice faint. “There’s no way… Dragons are _creature_ _s_ , Harry.” 

    Harry tilted his head to regard her. “So are snakes,” he pointed out. 

    She shook her head sharply. “They’re _magical creatures_. If they had a language, someone would have written it down! There is no record of dragons ever _speaking_ , not even in Parseltongue.” 

    “Just because it’s not here doesn’t mean it’s not anywhere,” Ron said absently. He was staring at his chessboard, deliberating strategy, it seemed. With a nod to himself, he moved a pawn. 

    Hermione, with barely a glance at the board, moved a bishop, taking one of Ron’s pawns. “Hogwarts is one of the best libraries in the world,” she said, sounding as though Ron had personally offended her. “If something isn’t here, it’s either too rare or too Dark.” 

    “Or no one knows it exists,” Ron replied, taking another of Hermione’s pieces. She scowled at the board for a long moment. 

    “Speaking of Dark,” Harry said, absently stroking his fingers along Erus’ back, “how did things go with Prefect Clearwater?” 

    Hermione moved her remaining knight before she replied. “I am confident we will be ready for whatever you plan soon,” she replied. She glanced at him. “You haven’t told us anything, Harry.” 

    Harry smiled pleasantly. “We have something no one else does,” he said, thinking of the Invisibility Cloak hidden under his pillow. “And I don’t plan to use it for trifling matters.” 

    He was sure that, had he been any other sort of child, he would have been so happy to receive something that had once belonged to his father that anything else simply didn’t matter. But Harry was not any other sort of child, and so his curiosity was directed towards _who_ had had the Cloak, and _why_. 

    Why his father had even owned such a Cloak was also an intriguing question, but Harry was sure that would be revealed on its own. 

    Hermione made a triumphant noise. “Checkmate!” 

    Harry glanced at the board – she had indeed managed to get Ron into a checkmate position. Ron frowned, his eyes sharp as he studied his chessboard, before he nodded, acknowledging Hermione’s win. He certainly wasn’t happy about it, but Ron wasn’t one to mope over a simple chess game. He raised his head, eyes glittering as he smiled at Hermione. 

    “Again?” he asked, and Harry heard the hunger in his voice, the desire to _win_. 

    But Hermione shook her head, smirking. “I don’t think so, Ron. This is my victory for today, and you will let me have it. Otherwise I won’t help you with your homework.” 

    Harry stifled a chuckle at the expression on Ron’s face. “You’ve got him there,” he said to Hermione. 

    “Fine,” Ron grumbled, magically packing the chess pieces away. The spell wavered for a moment, and Harry couldn’t help but glare at the wand in Ron’s hand. But it steadied, and the chess pieces were away in moments. 

    “Are you two on track with your study schedules?” Hermione asked. 

    Harry nodded. “Going over the information a few times is definitely a good way to get it stuck in your head,” he said. 

    “If I talked in my sleep, I could recite half the textbook,” Ron agreed, only he didn’t seem anywhere near as happy as Harry. 

    _“Speaker,”_ Erus said suddenly. _“Your friend is the only one who knows how to calm the predator, isn’t he?”_  

    Harry frowned at her. _“You mean Hagrid and Fluffy, yes?”_  

    _“You do not think it odd that your friend received a dragon?”_  

    Frown deepening, Harry considered. _“I did not,”_ he replied at last. _“But it does seem odd…”_ He pursed his lips. 

    The Philosopher’s Stone hadn’t been taken – Harry was sure that something would have happened if it had been removed. They wouldn’t have been told outright, because that would mean admitting that they had had it in the first place and had somehow managed to lose it… 

    If that happened, Hogwarts would hardly be considered the safest place anymore. 

    His friends were looking at him curiously, recognising when he was distracted by something Erus said. Harry glanced around the library with a bored expression, knowing his apparent lack of interest in his surroundings would convince most people that he didn’t care about being overheard. The glance, however, revealed no one near enough to overhear, and that Professor Snape had just walked into the library. 

    Harry blinked – he was sure he’d never seen Professor Snape in the library, although the reason for his lack of visits was almost certainly different than Hagrid’s. He made sure, however, not to focus his attention too much on the professor, content to shake his head subtly at his friends. 

    “Just who I was looking for,” Professor Snape said, coming to a stop a few tables down from the three Slytherins. Harry knew from his glance around the library that Malfoy, Zabini, Nott and Pansy were all seated there. “Draco, you will accompany me to my office.” 

    No explanation was given, but Malfoy hardly looked worried. His face was cast in a fierce expression, almost too pleased, and he said goodbye to his friends and followed the Potions professor out of the library. 

    Hermione turned back to him. “Did Erus say something important?” 

    Harry pursed his lips, keeping his voice low so that the other two Slytherins had no hope of hearing. “She thought it odd that Hagrid received the thing he wanted most in the world when the Stone is in Hogwarts – and he is the only one who knows how to get past its guardian.” 

    “I doubt Fluffy is the only thing guarding the Stone,” Hermione replied, her dark eyes thoughtful. “But the timing does seem… Too coincidental.” 

    Ron hummed, his fingers tracing the letters carved into his chess box. “Having more than one thing guarding it makes sense,” he said absently. “I mean, chess wouldn’t be anywhere near as fun if you just had the pawns and a king.” 

    “You two have obviously considered it,” Harry replied with a self-deprecating smile. “Who else have you considered?” 

    Hermione sat forward, her eyes alight. “Professor McGonagall,” she replied immediately. 

    “Professor Flitwick,” Ron added. “He might even have two protections – there are so many charms.” 

    Harry furrowed his brow. “Anyone else?” 

    “I considered Professor Sprout,” Ron told him. “But Hermione thinks she won’t be of any use.” 

    “Why not? There are plenty of dangerous magical plants,” Harry pointed out. They were reviewing the things they’d learned about dangerous plants at the moment in Herbology. Harry could count at least seven plants that he considered would be able to be used as protection for the Stone. 

    “But they need specific conditions to grow.” 

    Ron sighed. “Hermione, we can do magic. I don’t think something like Devil’s Snare would be that hard to grow.” 

    Hermione paused, and Harry could swear he saw the echoes of the passages she’d read flash through her eyes. “You’re right,” she admitted after a short pause. “But I don’t think it’s a viable protection plant.” 

    Harry made a thoughtful noise. “Only those three?” 

    “Professor Sinistra wouldn’t be of any use, I can’t imagine Madam Hooch helping in any way, Professor Binns is also out,” Hermione listed off. 

    “And Professor Snape?” Harry asked. 

    Ron and Hermione glanced at one another. “Difficult to say,” Ron replied. “On one hand, his potions would be an excellent defence… But to be honest, I don’t really see him wanting to help.” 

    _“You should consider him, just in case,”_ Erus said. She’d been very quiet, listening to the discussion between the three Slytherins. 

    _“Better safe than sorry,”_ Harry murmured back with a sharp nod. “Erus thinks we should consider Professor Snape. I do as well, if only because I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would be alright with Professor Snape saying no.” 

    “Professor Dumbledore would have done something himself, of course,” Hermione added. “And if we’re going to consider Professor Snape, maybe we should consider Professor Quirrell.” 

    “Consider them for what?” an outside voice asked. 

    The three had been so wrapped up in their discussion that they had failed to notice Zabini, Nott and Pansy approaching the table. Harry could have kicked himself, but he kept his expression neutral. 

    “Surely you’ve been taught it’s not polite to eavesdrop,” Hermione said pleasantly, and Harry couldn’t help but flinch when the sentence reminded him of another one of the Dursley’s ‘lessons’. 

    Zabini offered them a faint smile. “It is hardly out fault you were discussing things so enthusiastically,” he said. 

    “And calling our manners into question is hardly polite,” Pansy sniffed. 

    Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry cut in before she could say anything. “We were discussing which professor teaches our favourite subject,” he said. “I enjoy Potions, of course, but Professor Snape… Well, he doesn’t seem very fond of me, does he?” 

    Nott looked at him doubtfully. “And Professor Quirrell was your next choice?” 

    Ron snorted. “Harry likes Defence because of all the creatures he’s been learning about,” the red-head explained. “It’s not Professor Quirrell he likes.” 

    Harry nodded. “There are some fascinating creatures,” he agreed, glancing towards Hermione. “And some even more fascinating ways to banish them. Right, Hermione?” 

    For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t reply, but eventually she nodded. “There are,” she allowed, “but I still believe Professor McGonagall and her Transfiguration class is my favourite.” 

    “What about you?” Harry asked, turning back to the other Slytherins. “What’s your favourite subject?” 

    “I enjoy them all,” Pansy replied easily, her eyes cool and almost amused. “I don’t have the time to waste on picking a favourite.” 

    “I would enjoy Defence if it was taught by someone else,” Nott said. 

    Zabini considered for a moment. “Loyalty to my House inspires me to say Potions,” he replied at last, his honey coloured eyes narrowed in thought. 

    “What about loyalty to yourself?” Harry asked. 

    Pansy blinked once before her expression turned unreadable. “Didn’t you know that loyalty to House matters most to Slytherins?” 

    Harry considered that. “Alright. What does Slytherin want me to do? What does it stand for?” 

    “Purity,” Nott said immediately. Harry waited for his eyes to dart over to Hermione, but he was surprised – and rather grateful – when Nott’s eyes stayed staring at his. 

    “A cunning mind,” Zabini said. 

    “Mind over brawn,” Pansy added, flicking her hair over her shoulder. 

    “The will to conquer anything that stands in your way,” Hermione cut in, her dark eyes narrowed. 

    Ron sighed to himself, “The ability to look proud in any situation.” 

    Harry shot a grin at his friend. “Favourite colours are green and silver,” he added, nudging Ron’s shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes while Ron snorted – the other three Slytherins looked insulted. 

    “Slytherin is an ancient and noble House,” Pansy began, her eyes narrowed. “You would insult it?” 

    Harry smiled at her. “And what do you think of Gryffindors, Miss Parkinson? Mr Nott? Mr Zabini?” 

    Nott narrowed his eyes too. “The Gryffindors are a Slytherins natural enemy,” he replied. 

    “But isn’t Gryffindor an ancient and noble House as well?” Harry asked, cocking his head. “Why can you insult one, but not the other?” 

    “A Gryffindor would never insult their House,” Hermione pointed out thoughtfully. 

    Harry rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “How do you know? I’m sure not all Gryffindors are as horrible as you all think – Neville doesn’t seem that bad.” 

    Pansy recoiled. “And here I thought you had some taste, Potter.” 

    “Sure,” Ron snorted. “That’s why he’s better friends with us than he is with you.” 

    “Because he has taste,” Hermione agreed. “This conversation had, perhaps, better be had in the common room. We hardly want the other Houses to be noticing our words.” 

    Harry nodded. “This discussion is hardly subtle.” 

    “You started it,” Pansy pointed out. 

    “But I’m still learning how to be a Slytherin,” Harry replied, affecting a wounded air. “You’ve been a Slytherin your entire life, Miss Parkinson. How can I ever hope to compete?” 

    Pansy turned away with a barely concealed huff of annoyance, but Zabini smirked at Harry knowingly. “Well played, Potter.” 

    Ron snorted. “Like he needs your reassurance, Zabini.” 

    “I was just complimenting him,” Zabini replied. “It’s not everyday someone manages to win an argument against Pansy. It’s impressive.” 

    “Thank you,” Harry said. “But I knew that already.” 


	17. Farewell and Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Killing the monsters is the easy bit. It's finding them that's the hard part._

    Saturday came faster than Harry had anticipated. Between classes, school work, listening to Hermione as she outlined the way the Restricted Section was set up and coming up with a suitable plan, time seemed to speed up. 

    Zabini eyed him curiously from his bed. “You’re going out again,” he noted. “May I ask where?” 

    Harry didn’t spare him a glance. “You can ask, but you won’t get an answer,” he said, peering under the bed to see if Erus had finished her rat. She flicked her tongue out lazily at him, coiling around his offered arm. 

    Ron burst into their dorm room, blue eyes wide. “I’m getting a feeling this isn’t going to go well,” he said to Harry, biting worriedly at his lip. 

    “Now is not the time to be telling me,” Harry replied sharply. “We have to go, or we’ll be late.” 

    “Hermione said –” Ron began. 

    Harry hissed wordlessly and spun towards his friend. “We don’t have time,” he hissed. “She knows what she’s doing.” 

    Zabini eyed them cautiously. “Maybe you need someone else to help,” he suggested. 

    “No,” Harry said coldly, grabbing Ron by the shoulder and pulling him out the door. “We don’t.” 

    The two boys were silent as they slipped beneath the Invisibility Cloak and began to make their way to Hagrid’s hut. Halfway there, Ron started snickering. 

    “That was brilliant,” he said, grin wide. 

    Harry nodded. “I didn’t know you were such a good actor, Ron.” 

    “To be fair, I really _am_ worried about this,” Ron admitted. “Even with the Cloak and Hermione as back up…” 

    “Things could go wrong,” Harry finished, nodding again. He understood his friends’ fear – the last thing he wanted was to be expelled from Hogwarts and have to go back to the Dursley’s. 

    _“I will keep an eye out for you, speaker,”_ Erus said. _“It is why I came with you, after all.”_  

    _“I know, but the risk is still there,”_ Harry told her. 

    They knocked quietly on Hagrid’s door, and slipped inside when he opened it for them. Hagrid shook his head, looking as though he wanted to tell them off for being out so late. 

    “Hagrid,” Harry said, before Hagrid could get a word in, “you are the one who could get into more trouble. Worry about yourself, please. Ron and I have a plan in case something goes wrong. Now, where is your dragon? Ready to go?” 

    Hagrid folded his arms. “Now, jus’ because yer in Slytherin don’t mean I’m alright with ye bein’ out at night, no matter the reason. I appreciate what yer doin’, but I can get Norbert to the Tower by myself.” 

    Ron raised an eyebrow. “And how were you planning on doing that?” 

    “I may not have my wand –” 

    “Yes you do,” Harry said, cocking his head. “It’s in your umbrella.” At the incredulous look on Hagrid’s face, Harry blinked. “I’m not blind, and I’m certainly not that stupid. Wandless magic is incredibly hard, and it takes a certain level of discipline required to achieve it. Not to mention, you used your umbrella when you came to pick me up from the Dursley’s.” 

    Hagrid’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “I’m not gonna be able to talk ye out of this, am I?” 

    “I’m afraid not,” Harry replied. “Where is the dragon?” 

    _“I am here,”_ the creature hissed, emerging once again from the fireplace. Harry gaped – in the span of just over a week, the dragon had grown from the size of a medium sized dog to being larger than Fang. Its eyes were as large as Harry’s fists, and its teeth were a startling white where they peeked through gaps in its lips. 

    _“You have grown a lot since I last saw you,”_ Harry felt compelled to point out. 

    The dragon snorted, weaving its way over to them. _“I have grown but a fraction. I will mature faster with my family. Are you taking me there now?”_  

    _“I cannot take you,”_ Harry replied apologetically. _“I have to stay here, at school. But my friend Ron has a brother who works with your kind, and he has friends who are willing to take you there.”_  

    _“The man you told me about last time.”_ The dragon gave a huff and arched her neck to nose along the bottom of Harry’s robes. Erus gave a warning hiss, coiling tighter around Harry’s arm. _“The hungry one is still here, then,”_ the dragon said, snorting hard enough for sparks to emerge from her nostrils. _“Take care, speaker. The hunger is only getting stronger.”_  

    Harry frowned, but nodded. _“I will be careful.”_  

    The dragon consented to have the Cloak placed over her, promising to be careful as she walked. Ron and Harry took a breath before casting a spell to make them less noticeable. Had it been possible, they would have spelled themselves to be invisible using a spell they’d found in one of the many books Hermione and Harry borrowed, but Ron’s wand had made that an impossibility when instead of turning Ron invisible, it had turned his skin bright green. 

    Harry would have tried to cast the spell on both of them, but he’d only managed to cast the spell once on himself, and it had lasted all of five minutes. Hermione was much better, and that was why she was their back up. Her spell had lasted for almost half an hour before they’d thought to look up the counter spell, and by then Hermione was already half visible. 

    The two boys and the dragon started across the grounds, wary of Filch and his cat. Erus had promised that Mrs Norris wouldn’t _try_ to get them in trouble, but she would be obligated to find Filch if she saw them. 

    Harry noticed the two figures circling the Astronomy Tower before Ron, and whispered to him that they needed to pick up the pace. Charlie’s letter had said that his friends would only have a limited amount of time before they were noticed by Hogwarts’ wards. 

    They made it up to the top of the Tower, and pulled the Cloak off the dragon. The two wizards on their brooms almost fell out of the sky at the sight of a dragon appearing from nowhere, and Harry and Ron quickly cast the counter spell to their spell. 

    “You must be Ron,” the first man said, eyeing the dragon warily. “You look like Charlie.” 

    Ron’s hands clenched. “I get that a lot,” he muttered in reply. 

    The second man was studying the dragon more intently. “So this is the beast, is it? Very nice. You don’t have anything to carry him with?” 

    Harry shook his head. “She wants to fly with you,” he explained. “She said it will be good for her to stretch her wings.” 

    The second man gave Harry an odd look. “It’s a long trip, you know. Romania isn’t just down to the coast.” 

    “I know,” Harry replied. “But are you going to tell her she can’t fly with you?” 

    The dragon hissed and bared her fangs. The two men wisely didn’t say another word, and they mounted their broomsticks. The dragon nosed the broomsticks, nipping at the ends, but ultimately decided they weren’t edible and leapt into the air. 

    “Thank you for doing this,” Harry said as the two wizards and the dragon hovered in front of them. _“Be safe and well,”_ he added to the dragon, reaching out a hand. 

    The dragon snorted and nipped at his fingers, gently but still hard enough to draw a bead of blood. _“The same to you, speaker.”_  

    Ron and Harry stayed to watch the three figures vanish into the night sky before making their way back towards the common room. They could use the Cloak now, so there was no need for the boys to cast the spells again. They slipped under the Cloak and began making their way back to the common room. 

    It was only for a moment, but Harry swore he saw Professor Quirrell moving towards the stairs, nothing nervous or intimidated in his demeanour. But Harry had other things to worry about – like getting back to the common room without being caught. 

    They crept into the common room, and Harry had a hard time keeping his triumphant smile off his face. That is, until they heard a dreaded voice. 

    “And just what do you think you’re doing?” 

    Harry froze, Ron going as still as a statue at his side. They were hardly breathing as Professor Snape strode towards them. 

    “Sorry, Professor,” another voice said meekly. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief as Hermione appeared behind them. As one, the boys moved out of the way of Professor Snape’s path, careful not to bump into any of the chairs. 

    “Apologies will not get you anywhere now, Miss Granger. What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” 

    Hermione bit her lip. “I couldn’t sleep, Professor, so I decided to try and read. I didn’t want to disturb Pansy and Millicent, so I came downstairs.” 

    Professor Snape looked unimpressed. “And where is your book?” 

    “Well you see, Professor, I put it down somewhere and I seem to have misplaced it.” 

    “Misplaced it,” Professor Snape repeated. His dark eyes moved over the common room, and Hermione’s eyes flashed with something dark before she returned to her innocent role. 

    “I almost think someone took it, professor, but there’s no one else awake.” 

    Professor Snape looked at her sharply. “So you haven’t seen Mr Potter or Mr Weasley this evening? I had an interesting conversation with Miss Greengrass just before curfew… She seemed to think Mr Potter and Mr Weasley were planning on breaking some rules.” 

    Hermione shook her head. “If they’ve left, I haven’t seen them, professor.” She seemed to hesitate for a second, before adding, “I’m not sure that she’s the best person to listen to about those kinds of things. She seems very… Eager to paint Harry, Ron and I in a bad light.” Hermione sighed, biting her lip. To Harry, her performance seemed notably fake, but Professor Snape seemed oblivious, if his thoughtful expression meant anything. 

    Ron leaned closer to breathe into Harry’s ear. “We should get back to our room. There are spells that can reveal a person, even if they’re invisible.” 

    Harry nodded sharply, and the two of them snuck away to their room, careful to be as silent as possible. They climbed into their beds, ignoring the soft snores coming from Zabini’s bed, and went to sleep. 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    Harry yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Beside him, Ron yawned, but covered it up by biting into his sausage. 

    Hermione entered the Great Hall, for once later than both boys. She walked down the length of the table, smiling when her eyes landed on Harry and Ron. She sat between them, her dark eyes flicking up the length of the table. 

    “It’s fine,” Ron muttered. “Erus is keeping them away.” 

    Erus, spread out on the table, gave a lazy hiss in response. 

    “How did it go?” she asked. “I assume, since neither of you were _expelled_ , that things went well?” 

    Ron nodded and smiled. “You are looking at two of the youngest dragon tamers in history.” 

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “That dragon was never tame,” she muttered. Her eyes flickered up toward the professors’ table. “I ran into Professor Snape just after my spell wore off,” she said quietly. 

    “We were there,” Harry replied easily. 

    She blinked. “You’re lucky you weren’t caught,” she said. “There are spells that can detect a person’s presence –” 

    “That’s why we left,” Ron interrupted. “I told Harry about them.” 

    Hermione looked surprised. “How did _you_ know about them?” 

    Ron sat back, blue eyes narrowing dangerously. “Just because I don’t read like you do doesn’t mean I don’t know things. My mum used to use a spell to find the twins when they went off troublemaking.” 

    “What _I’m_ interested in,” Harry said, his voice low, “is how Miss Greengrass knew that we planned on breaking the rules?” 

    His two friends paused in their argument, giving Harry’s question some thought. “There’s no way to say for sure if she knew that you were,” Hermione finally said, picking at her breakfast with a frown. “She could have just been trying to get you into trouble.” 

    “But if that was the case, why she wouldn’t she have included you?” Harry asked. “She likes you less than she likes Ron and I. Why just Ron and I?” 

    Ron glanced up the table. “You don’t think he told, do you?” he asked, and Harry had no doubt his eyes were fastened on Zabini. 

    “I think it’s a good thing we limited the number of people who knew that we planned to break the rules,” Harry replied. “Gives us fewer suspects, wouldn’t you say?” He paused, before abruptly changing the subject. “What reason would a professor have for roaming the castle after curfew?” 

    Hermione shrugged. “I imagine there would be a few things. Detentions, working late… Why?” 

    Quickly, Harry told them about seeing Professor Quirrell the previous evening. He told them how he’d seen the professor heading for the stairs on the other side of the castle, how purposeful his strides had been… And how very different he had appeared from the professor they knew and privately laughed at. 

    “The Stone?” was the first thing Ron said. 

    “But why?” Hermione responded. “It’s not as though he could _use_ it. To use it, he would have to have access to Nicholas Flamel’s notes.” 

    “Who?” Ron asked, puzzled. 

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “The wizard who made the Stone,” she replied in a voice that told Ron he should have known that already. 

    Harry frowned. “Why would he need Nicholas Flamel’s notes? Aren’t there books that deal exclusively with using the Stone?” 

    “Yes, but they’re based a lot on theory,” Hermione replied. “It’s impossible to know if the recipes are correct, or if there are better ways to brew now. Not to mention, there are probably examples of plants that have disappeared or are really difficult to find in the recipe.” 

    “He doesn’t strike me as the type to want to live forever,” Ron said. 

    Harry turned to stare at the professors’ table. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to have to walk around alone at night, either,” he pointed out. 

    Ron made a thoughtful noise. “You’re right – wouldn’t he be scared of the vampires coming after him?” 

    “People’s fears can make them irrational,” Hermione said, but she too glanced towards the professors’ table. Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape were intriguingly absent. 

    _“Erus,”_ Harry hissed. _“Can you follow Professor Quirrell?”_  

    The snake looked at him. _“The not-mouse one_ _, speaker_ _?”_  

    He nodded sharply. _“There’s something about him, Erus…_ _I don’t like it._ _”_  

    Erus looked towards the professors’ table. _“I will have to find him first, speaker.”_  

    _“That’s easy.”_ Harry rose and marched over to the professors’ table, adopting a shy expression as he approached. His steps faltered, as though he’d suddenly lost the courage he’d had, but he bit his lip and cleared his throat quietly. 

    Professor Dumbledore turned to look at him, his eyes sparkling. “Ah, Harry,” he said with a bright smile. “How can we help you?” 

    Harry glanced off to the side. “I was hoping you could tell me where Professor Quirrell was, sir,” he said. “I wanted to ask him a question about our latest assignment, but he’s not here now and I’m not sure where to go to look for him.” 

    Professor Dumbledore pursed his lips. “I believe Professor Quirrell will be in his office. Let me just finish this letter, and I will show you where to find it.” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Although, I am sure that he would have shown you at the beginning of the year.” 

    Harry glanced down, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “I forgot, sir,” he mumbled, his sharp eyes landing on the letter Professor Dumbledore was writing. A jolt of recognition went through him. “I can ask Hermione, though – I think she knows. I just thought if he wasn’t in his office, I wouldn’t have any idea where to find him.” 

    Professor Dumbledore frowned a little before smiling again. “It’s not for me to know all my professors’ comings and goings, but I believe Professor Quirrell often frequents Hogsmeade. If he is not in his office, you will have to wait to ask your question.” 

    Harry beamed at the Headmaster. “Thank you, sir!” He turned, trotting away from the professors’ table. 

    “Harry,” Professor Dumbledore called. He beckoned Harry back over. “If you see Professor Snape, could you tell him I would like a word?” 

    Harry nodded. “Of course, Professor Dumbledore.” 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    “ _Professor Dumbledore_ had the Cloak?” Ron asked, sounding shocked. “And he didn’t keep it for himself?” 

    Hermione frowned, her gaze flicking around the library before returning to Ron. “Keep your voice down – I don’t want to get kicked out.” 

    “Sorry,” Ron muttered. “It’s just… It’s an Invisibility Cloak. Why would you give it up?” 

    “There are simple spells that can make a person invisible,” Hermione replied tartly. “Which you well know.” 

    “Yes, but,” Ron waved his arms. “It’s an _Invisibility Cloak_.” 

    “Besides,” Hermione continued, as though Ron hadn’t spoken, “Professor Dumbledore is a _Gryffindor_. The Cloak technically belongs to Harry, because it was his father’s before him. He did the right thing, the _honourable_ thing.” 

    Harry chuckled. “The honourable thing,” he echoed. He tapped his dry quill against his inkwell. “Any thoughts on Daphne?” he asked. 

    Hermione shook her head, reaching up with a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I still think she just wanted to get you in trouble,” she said. Something flashed on her finger and Harry blinked. 

    “Since when have you had a ring?” he asked. 

    Hermione looked at him, obviously puzzled. “I don’t,” she replied slowly. 

    “Then what are you wearing on your finger?” Harry asked. “Is it something I’m not meant to see?” 

    “What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded. She flexed her hand, examining her fingers. “There’s nothing on my fingers.” And she held out her hand for Harry to inspect. 

    Harry was confused – he was _sure_ he’d seen something, but looking at Hermione’s fingers now showed that his friend was telling the truth. He frowned, before getting to his feet and leaving the table to find some answers. 

    He was lucky it was Sunday, and that many students avoided the library on Sundays. Most of the books he found were thick and old, but there was a newer one that seemed relevant. He brought the pile of books back to their table, hardly noticing that Hermione was looking at him with something akin to concern. 

    She let him read uninterrupted, having her own work to be going on with. She’d purposely left her homework to the last minute, just so that Ron hadn’t been able to ask to read over hers. Ron had grumbled, but his was finished and Hermione had already read over it. 

    “According to this,” Harry said after an hour of reading, “there are spells that act like a tape recorder.” 

    “What’s a tape recorder?” Ron asked, puzzled. 

    “And,” Harry continued, “while it’s difficult to combine these types of spells with any others, it’s not impossible. You could, realistically, create an object that was both invisible and able to relay information. It would, however, require a similar object in the possession of the listener.” 

    Hermione’s eyes were bright. “No first year would have the ability to do that,” she replied. 

    Harry smirked. “According to this, not even a seventh year could do a spell like this. Also, the spells that act like recorders are, in fact, considered Dark. Do _you_ know anyone who would practise Dark spells, given the current opinion on these spells?” 

    It was Ron who answered. “No,” he said slowly, “but I can think of several families.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: the bit at the start was literally just them messing with Zabini. That is all.
> 
> Have a new chapter, sorry I didn't update last week I actually wasn't anywhere near my computer/laptop for a while.


	18. Allies and Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There exists a tipping point between gods and monsters._

    On their way out of the library, the three Slytherins saw Professor Snape stalking away from them. 

    “You two go on ahead,” Harry said. “Professor Dumbledore asked me to send Professor Snape to him if I saw him.” 

    “We need to think about this,” Hermione replied, waving her hand. “If you’re right…” Her fingers clenched into a fist, and her eyes flickered down to study them again. 

    Harry nodded sharply. “Let me do this, and we’ll talk after.” He turned away from his friends, trotting after the imposing figure of the Potions Master. “Professor Snape!” he called, but the professor obviously didn’t hear him, as he swept around a corner and out of sight. 

    Harry sighed and debated for a moment. He could follow Professor Snape, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort. He was about to turn away when he caught sight of a faint outline in the dark. He frowned. 

    _“_ _Erus_ _?”_ he whispered. 

    Her head jerked towards him, and she went still. Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but she shook her head vigorously from side to side and beckoned him over with her tail. Still frowning at her odd behaviour, Harry walked towards her. 

    “S-S-Severus,” someone stuttered, and Harry froze where he stood. It was Professor Quirrell – Harry wouldn’t have mistaken that stutter anywhere. “I d-didn’t expect t-to see you h-here.” 

    “I know,” Professor Snape replied, his voice cool and dark. Harry decided he wanted to sound like that when he was older. “Hence why I am here.” 

    Professor Quirrell audibly swallowed. “I d-don’t –” 

    “The troll, Quirrell,” Professor Snape snapped. “I am well aware of your affinity with them. Do not mistake me for the fool Dumbledore is playing.” 

    Harry listened with interest. So Professor Snape thought Professor Quirrell was behind the Halloween incident – and if that was true, and Ron was right in his theory that the troll had only been a diversion, the it _was_ Professor Quirrell who was after the Stone. 

    It meant that Harry was _right_. A vicious smile spread across Harry’s face. 

    But another thing that was interesting was the way Professor Snape had phrased his last sentence – the fool Dumbledore is _playing_. Harry stopped thinking and started listening again, only to hear his Head of House issue a warning. 

    “You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” Professor Snape said. 

    There was little else said, and eventually Professor Quirrell scurried away. Erus remained in the shadows, her body as still as stone. Harry copied her. 

    “I am not a fool, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape snapped. “Get out here. Now.” 

    Harry sighed and shrugged to himself – it had been worth a shot. Without the Cloak, he was likely to get caught. But what he’d overheard was worth it. He stepped into the corridor, Erus flowing from the shadows to coil up his leg. 

    “Hello Professor Snape,” Harry said calmly. “Professor Dumbledore asked me to send you to him if I saw you. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” 

    Professor Snape’s eyes were narrowed, but his expression faltered slightly at Harry’s words. “Just because you didn’t mean it,” he said, recovering himself, “does not mean you won’t get punished for it.” 

    _“Speaker, the not-mouse one is two-faced,”_ Erus hissed. 

    Harry nodded. _“I know.”_  

    She shook her head urgently. _“No, speaker, you do not. He has two faces. The other face speaks to me.”_  

    “Mr Potter –” Professor Snape began, no doubt about to start on a lecture Harry would only half listen to. 

    “One second, professor,” Harry interrupted quickly. _“He speaks_ _Parseltongue_ _?”_  

    Erus hissed in frustration. _“The not-mouse one doesn’t. But the second face, the face on the wrong side of his head. That one speaks.”_  

    Harry froze. He was remembering something someone had said in the common room at the beginning of the year, his mind snapping connections into place. 

    “Professor,” Harry began, his voice flat, “are there any other Parselmouths?” 

    “Mr Potter, I don’t think you understand the severity of your situation,” Professor Snape replied instead of answering him. “You were eavesdropping on a conversation between adults, and while I would not normally be so concerned, the nature of that conversation was rather delicate.” 

    “Did Voldemort really die that night?” Harry wondered, a flicker of pleasure coursing through him when Professor Snape visibly flinched at the name. “Is there a way to escape the Killing Curse, professor?” 

    “Mr Potter –” Professor Snape began again. 

    “They said he was _gone_ , professor,” Harry continued. “Gone doesn’t mean dead. The Elixir of Life…” he trailed off, frowning. “So he’s sort of dead? Can someone be sort of dead?” 

    _“I think you have broken the Snape,”_ Erus interrupted quietly. 

    Harry blinked, glancing up at his professor. “Sorry, professor,” he said. “There are just so many questions I have. Things are starting to make sense, but the situation is just raising more questions! Do you have answers, professor?” 

    Professor Snape pursed his lips. “Follow me,” he said, abruptly turning on his heel and starting off. With a glance at Erus, Harry trotted after him. 

    It became clear after some time that they were headed for the dungeons. They went straight past the common room entrance and continued deeper into the dungeons. Erus pressed closer to Harry’s skin as the air around them grew colder. 

    They finally stopped in front of a portrait – the figure inside the portrait peered down at them. 

    “Trouble, Severus?” the portrait asked. 

    Professor Snape inclined his head. “Of a kind. Slytherin.” 

    The portrait swung open, revealing a medium sized room set up like a miniature potions lab. At the back of what Harry assumed was Professor Snape’s private lab was a door that Harry guessed led to a bedroom or storeroom. 

    “Sit,” Professor Snape said, gesturing to one of the chairs in the room. Harry sat, watching Professor Snape silently. The Potions Master first went to check on the potion brewing at the back of the room – after checking the time quickly, he added a flower Harry hadn’t seen before. 

    “Now,” Professor Snape continued, whirling around before moving to stand over Harry. “Am I to assume that you know of the Stone?” 

    Harry nodded. 

    _“Is this wise?”_ Erus hissed quietly. 

    “And you overheard me saying that Professor Quirrell was to blame for the troll incident,” the professor continued. “What do you make of the situation?” 

    Harry tilted his head. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me, professor,” he replied. “I’m just a child.” 

    “That excuse, while it may have worked on your _relatives_ ,” the word was said with distaste, and Harry wondered at it, “it does not work on _me_. Answer my question, Mr Potter.” 

    “ _I_ think Professor Quirrell is trying to get the Stone for Voldemort,” Harry said bluntly, sharp eyes watching his professor’s face carefully. Hence, he caught the flicker of shock on the older man’s face. Harry made sure he didn’t smile as he continued. “It makes a disturbing amount of sense, if there is a way for someone to survive the _Avada_ curse. Considering how strong Voldemort is said to have been, I think that if anyone found a way to survive, it was him.” 

    “There is no known way to survive the Killing Curse,” Professor Snape replied, his lips pursed. The furrow in his brow, however, told Harry that Professor Snape agreed with his assessment of Voldemort’s powers. 

    He sat back, absently stroking Erus’ scales. “Then why would Professor Quirrell want the Stone?” he returned. “I’ve discussed this already, professor, and I don’t really see another option. The Halloween incident was already considered as a diversion – we just had no idea who caused it. Professor Quirrell already has something guarding the Stone, of course – that means one less challenge for him in getting it.” 

    Professor Snape pursed his lips. “There are still several other professors who are using their talents to protect the Stone, myself included.” 

    “Yes, and I think you may have scared Professor Quirrell into action,” Harry replied. “It would hardly be a challenge for him to discover what exactly the rest of the professors were using to guard the Stone, especially since he is so…” Harry paused. “Underwhelming? If there was someone who was considered the least likely to steal the Stone, it would be Professor Quirrell.” 

    “Would I be correct in assuming that it is you and Miss Granger who have managed to put all this together?” 

    _“He did not mention your bloody one,”_ Erus noted. _“I do not think you should correct him.”_  

    _“Better to keep our cards close,”_ Harry murmured in agreement. To avoid lying, Harry changed the subject completely. “Professor, the reason that I think Professor Quirrell is trying to steal the Stone for Voldemort is because Erus said that he has a second face under his turban. One that spoke to her.” 

    Professor Snape was naturally pale, but Harry could have sworn that ghosts had more colour than his Head of House when Harry finished his subject change. After a long beat of silence, Professor Snape finally replied. “Perhaps it is time to involve the Headmaster.” 

    Harry abruptly remembered something else as Professor Snape rose to his feet, stalking around his lab. “Professor, is there a way for someone to get a Dark artefact into the school?” 

    “Impossible,” Professor Snape snapped immediately. “Our wards –” 

    “They stop dangerous Dark magic from getting in, I know,” Harry interrupted. “But what about something… Different. Not necessarily dangerous.” 

    Professor Snape’s nostrils flared. “I will be docking points for your lack of respect,” he warned. “But I will answer your question,” he continued stiffly. “What manner of Dark artefact did you have in mind?” 

    “Something that would allow someone to listen in on another’s conversation without anyone knowing,” Harry replied. He didn’t care for docked points – he didn’t care about the House Cup, either. His concerns were more important. 

    “Spells like that are uncommon,” Professor Snape replied, “and require great skill. Such an artefact could, however, make it through the school wards.” He studied Harry for a moment. “Why are you asking such a question?” 

    Harry smiled. “I have my reasons, professor.” His expression shuttered, emotions gone as quickly as they had appeared. “Will I be required to be present when you speak with Professor Dumbledore?” he asked. 

    Professor Snape nodded slowly. “Your concerns are not something I feel I will be able to explain, especially as it involves your companion.” 

    Harry nodded to himself. His dislike of Professor Dumbledore, which as yet had no founding, would have to be put aside for now, especially if he _was_ right and Voldemort hadn’t been killed by the _Avada_ curse. Harry was certainly not foolish enough to think he was equal to taking the Dark Lord head on, even if he had Ron and Hermione at his back. 

    _“Remember that the old one plays a fool,”_ Erus reminded him quietly. _“_ _He needs to prove himself_ _an ally before we trust him.”_  

    Harry inclined his head in response. His friend was right – both Ron and Hermione had proved themselves already. Professor Snape was still potentially an ally, and this Harry decided to consider his test. Harry had come to him with two concerns – one was being handed over to the Headmaster, which Harry understood to mean that Professor Snape thought he was over his head. Which, in all honesty, it was. 

    “Shall we go, professor?” Harry asked, staring expectantly at the older man. 

    “Yes,” Professor Snape replied. “You’ll follow me to the Headmaster’s office.” 

    The walk to Professor Dumbledore’s office was uneventful. Harry, of course, knew where Professor Dumbledore’s office was – Hermione had made a point to show both him and Ron where all the teachers offices were, and Harry had spent a good deal of the year coming up with routes to avoid them. Erus had been extraordinarily helpful in that regard, because she had found several hidden passages that Harry would never have found on his own. 

    Harry spared a moment to hope that Ron and Hermione weren’t expecting him back anytime soon – he had a feeling talking with Professor Dumbledore would be a lot harder than talking to Professor Snape. 

    _“If I did not think you needed me, I would tell your friends you were going to be gone for a time,”_ Erus said. 

    From anyone else, Harry was sure the assumption that he couldn’t handle things himself would have stung. But Erus had been with him years now, and any pride that might have gotten in the way of his logic was pushed aside by the gratitude he felt that there was someone that liked him enough to have his back. 

    _“It’s fine,”_ Harry murmured back, only half listening as Professor Snape said the password to the gargoyle standing guard at Professor Dumbledore’s office. _“They will have a lot to talk about – I just hope that Hermione manages to see past whatever spell that ring has on it.”_ He glanced at her, meeting her slitted yellow eye. _“Do you know how long it’s been on her?”_  

    Erus flicked out her tongue thoughtfully. _“I did not notice it, speaker, so I couldn’t say.”_  

    _“Too bad,”_ Harry said. _“We’d be able to figure out what she heard.”_  

    _“What we need to do,”_ Erus replied as they entered Professor Dumbledore’s office, _“is to figure out which of your housemates will be useful… And which of them are already against you.”_  

    “Harry, my boy!” Professor Dumbledore said, rising from his desk with a smile on his face. Despite the fact that he had been seated, Harry felt like the older man had known they were coming. “Thank you for fetching Professor Snape for me. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.” 

    “Not at all,” Harry replied quietly, keeping his expression pleasant. It wouldn’t do to make the older man aware of how wary Harry was of him. 

    Professor Snape stepped forward. “That is not why we are here,” he told the Headmaster bluntly. “Mr Potter here has something to tell you, something I am sure,” he sent the Headmaster a rather significant look, “you will find is very important.” 

    Blue eyes flickered towards Harry, pausing for only a moment at Erus coiled around his throat. “What do you have to tell me, Harry?” 

    _“I do not like the way he says your name, speaker,”_ Erus hissed, her body coiling tighter around Harry’s throat. _“_ _I do not like_ him _.”_  

    Harry hummed quietly, trying to calm her. To be honest, Professor Dumbledore’s familiar way of addressing him had alarm bells going off in the back of Harry’s head as well, but he needed to get rid of a bigger threat first. 

    “It’s about Professor Quirrell, sir,” Harry began – and was he imagining the way Professor Dumbledore’s eyes tightened, his mouth turning down at the corners? Harry tried to make his study of Professor Dumbledore’s features as subtle as possible as he continued. “Erus told me that he spoke to her.” 

    Professor Dumbledore frowned. “Professor Quirrell does not, to my knowledge, speak Parseltongue.” 

    “Sorry, I misspoke. Professor Quirrell didn’t speak to her – the back of his head did. She said he had another face, under his turban. That’s what spoke to her.” 

    “Under his turban?” Professor Dumbledore repeated – but instead of sounding doubtful, he sounded like a question had been answered. A realization had been reached. 

    _“He does not smell surprised,”_ Erus informed him. 

    “Professor Dumbledore, is there a way for someone to survive the Killing Curse?” Harry asked, curious to see if the older man would lie to him, or if he would give Harry the truth. 

    This time, Professor Dumbledore looked surprised to be asked such a question. His eyes flickered to Professor Snape, whose face had stayed as impassive as rock. When the glance at the Slytherin Head revealed nothing, Professor Dumbledore looked back to Harry. 

    “There is no true escape from death, Harry,” he replied gravely. 

    Which was not what Harry had asked. Harry bit back a snapped reply and waited. 

    “Many great wizards and witches have tried,” Professor Dumbledore continued, hardly blinking as he stared at Harry. “It is impossible. Death will always come, in the end.” 

    Harry organized his expression into something appropriate – in this case, he felt that an earnest look and a nod of his head would work. “Of course, professor. I was just curious, sir, because I thought it strange that there is a face on the back of Professor Quirrell’s turban that speaks Parseltongue. And the only other Parseltongue I’ve heard of is Voldemort.” 

    Professor Dumbledore didn’t flinch at the name, but Professor Snape’s hands clenched into fists unconsciously at Harry’s blasé use of the name. His hand made an aborted movement towards his left forearm. 

    “It is, indeed, curious,” Professor Dumbledore replied calmly, “but the language of the snakes is a language like any other – it can be learned.” 

    _“Lies,”_ Erus hissed. _“Speakers are rare and true – they are born, not learned.”_  

    “In my experience, what appears to be one thing can always be another,” the professor continued. “Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, my boy – Professor Quirrell will be questioned thoroughly, I assure you. If that was all?” 

    Harry suddenly realized he didn’t want the Headmaster to know that he knew about the Philosopher’s Stone. He nodded. “Yes, sir. That was all.” 

    Professor Dumbledore beamed. “Excellent. Severus, I will need you tonight, if at all possible. For now, I think it would be prudent for you to escort Harry back to the common room.” 

    Inclining his head, Professor Snape swept aside to let Harry step out first. He waited until they were down another corridor before speaking. “You did not tell the Headmaster about the Stone,” Professor Snape observed. 

    Harry pursed his lips. “Professor Dumbledore did not answer my questions,” he replied quietly. 

    _“Very unhelpful,”_ Erus hissed in agreement. _“Not to mention a liar.”_  

    “But,” Harry continued, cocking his head as he studied the tall man walking beside him, “you did. And you didn’t say anything to Professor Dumbledore about me knowing about the Stone. You don’t even like me all that much.” 

    Professor Snape’s lips quirked. “I could still tell him,” he pointed out. 

    “You had the opportunity to tell him then – why not take it? You know everything I think I know. There was no disadvantage to telling Professor Dumbledore while we were in his office. Besides,” Harry continued, rolling his shoulder, “if you tell him later, it won’t matter. Professor Quirrell will be dealt with, and the Stone will no longer be in danger. 

    “So go ahead, Professor Snape,” Harry challenged, “tell him.” 

    To Harry’s amazement, his professor actually smiled at him. The expression was there and gone in a moment, before Professor Snape’s usual expressionless face smoothed out. “I recall telling you I would be docking points,” he drawled. 

    _“He smells sad, speaker. I thought that smiling was an indicator of joy?”_  

    Harry shrugged. “Take points, professor. I’m sure I’ll earn them back one way or another.” 

    To Erus, he whispered, _“I think I read somewhere that smiling hides pain.”_  

    _“So it does not indicate joy?”_ Erus asked, puzzled. 

    _“I think… I think it’s both. Joy and pain. Or it can be.”_  

    Shaking her head, Erus replied, _“You humans are so difficult.”_  

    “Ten points off for your cheek, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said, distracting Harry from his conversation with Erus. They were, by now, in front of the Slytherin common room. “And I will take another five for behaving like a reckless Gryffindor.” 

    Harry blinked. “I would never behave like a Gryffindor, professor,” he said, voice turning innocent and confused. “I can’t imagine why you would take points for something like that.” 

    Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. “Can you not, Mr Potter?” 

    Harry shook his head. “No, sir.” 

    _“Do you think he knows?”_ Erus asked as they watched Professor Snape stalk away. 

    She didn’t need to clarify. _“I think he suspects,”_ Harry replied as they stepped into the common room. He spotted Ron’s distinctive hair at the back corner of the common room, and headed towards it. _“I think we would be unwise to underestimate him.”_  

    _“And the other one?”_  

    Harry snorted, sliding onto the couch beside Ron. _“I think he has no idea – or if he does, he’s hiding it well. I would have expected to be called out, had he known it was me.”_  

    Neither of his friends had said anything, which Harry though odd. He paused, flicking his eyes from Ron to Hermione. With significant looks at one another, they both inclined their head towards the table in front of them. 

    Sitting innocently at the edge of the table was a silver ring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I am alive. Have another chapter. We're getting closer to the end~ How exciting.
> 
> Leave me comments if you liked it :D Or loved it xD Or hated it :(


	19. Harry Finally Gets to Talk to His Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What's to be gained by keeping the heaviest of treasures between your teeth?_

    Harry grinned. “So I wasn’t seeing things?” he asked, only a little bit smug. 

    With a sharp shake of her head, Hermione tapped a piece of parchment pointedly. Harry leaned forward and read Hermione’s note quickly. 

_We don’t know if it’s only active when it’s on someone’s finger or if it’s active all the time_ _. It took a while to break through the enchantment – I_ _think it_ _wore away as time went on and_ _the ring_ _was_ _n’t used. Which is interesting when you consider most charms don’t need to be refreshed all that often. I wonder how long that ring has been in storage for…_  

    Ron had also written a note underneath Hermione’s, having obviously taken the parchment off her before she could write a novel on the matter. 

_We’re not sure what to do with it._  

    Harry picked up the quill and wrote back a response. 

_I asked Professor Snape about it. I think we should take it to him._  

    Ron’s mouth dropped open in surprise while Hermione gave him a considering look. 

    “He’s a git!” Ron exclaimed loudly, before clapping a hand over his mouth. Eyes wide, he glanced at Hermione in apology. 

    With a roll of her eyes, Hermione plucked the quill from Harry’s hand. 

_As Ron said, Professor Snape does not seem to like you or Ron, and he is at the very least suspicious of me._ _Do you really think him the best option?_  

    “That’s not what I said at all,” Ron muttered to himself, before holding a hand out for Hermione’s quill. 

_Shouldn’t we take it to Professor Dumbledore instead? He’s the Headmaster, and I’m pretty sure we can trust him more than we can trust Professor Snape._  

    Harry raised an eyebrow. Did Ron trust Professor Dumbledore because of what his family knew of him, or because he had seen that the Headmaster was worth trusting? He decided to ask once Hermione was finished, because she had once again taken her quill back and was writing a response. 

_I wouldn’t trust Professor Dumbledore just because he’s a Light wizard. He’s either too oblivious to notice what’s happening at his own school, or he’s letting it happen._  

    Harry pulled out his own quill to write with. 

_Like Hermione said, just because he’s a Light wizard doesn’t mean we can automatically trust him. That’s a naïve way to look at things. I trust Professor Snape more than I trust Professor Dumbledore because Professor Snape has given me proof that he can be trusted – at least about this. We take the ring to Professor Snape tomorrow – it’s almost curfew – and then I’ll tell you all about my discussion with both him and Professor Dumbledore._  

    Hermione nodded once. “Okay,” she said aloud. She gestured to the ring. “What do we do with it until then?” 

    _“I could keep it safe, speaker,”_ Erus offered. 

    Harry smiled. “Erus can take care of it for us,” he replied. Erus slithered from around his neck down onto the table. After sizing the ring up for a moment, she opened her mouth and swallowed it down. 

    Ron’s eyes were wide. “Gross,” he murmured. 

    Harry shrugged. “Practical. No one will look for it there, and on the chance it is active when it touches skin, I don’t think it would count the inside of a snake’s stomach as skin. Plus, if it does activate, I imagine the sound would be pretty weird.” 

    “Thank you, Erus,” Hermione said, stroking one finger down Erus’ head. “What do we do now?” 

    “Bed,” Ron replied immediately. “It’s almost curfew – we can’t have Professor Snape mad at us again. Besides,” he continued, glancing at Hermione, “ _you’ve_ already broken curfew once.” 

    Hermione sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That he knows of.” 

    Harry snorted. “Ron’s right. Goodnight, Hermione.” 

    “Goodnight Harry, Ron.” 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    Harry knocked politely on the door to Professor Snape’s office, Erus coiled around his throat. He could feel the ring still in her stomach, the metal pressing harder against Harry’s throat than the scales on her underbelly. Ron had decided not to come, but Hermione was also waiting with him, her innocent expression hiding whatever thoughts she was thinking.  

    The office door swung open, and Professor Snape regarded the two of them for a moment before speaking. “How can I help you, Mr Potter, Miss Granger?” 

    “It’s about the magic I spoke to you about yesterday, professor,” Harry replied easily. “I had a few more questions, if that was alright.” 

    “That explains your presence, but not Miss Granger’s.” 

    Hermione smiled. “Harry told me about your discussion and I was curious,” she explained. 

    Professor Snape pursed his lips, but he couldn't very well accuse Hermione of lying. “Very well,” he said, clearly reluctant as he stepped aside and let the two of them in. 

    Erus made her way to Professor Snape’s desk, coiling up in the centre while Harry, Hermione and Professor Snape sat in the chairs. 

    “What questions do you have, Mr Potter?” Professor Snape asked. 

    Harry tilted his head. “Could you get rid of it?” Erus started convulsing, working the ring out of her stomach. Hermione watched curiously while Professor Snape looked like he was thinking he should be concerned. 

    When the ring finally emerged from Erus’ mouth, Harry quietly thanked her. “Can you get rid of it?” he asked again, picking up the ring with a scrap piece of parchment. It wasn’t touching his skin, so he thought it would be fine. 

    Professor Snape frowned at the ring, but gestured for Harry to put the ring back on the desk. He pulled out his wand and cast several spells on the ring while Harry and Hermione watched. The ring glowed first red, and then it turned black before abruptly combusting. Professor Snape made a noise of understanding, while Harry and Hermione were stuck staring at the professor. 

    How long had it taken Hermione to first find and then reveal the ring? And Professor Snape had destroyed it in a matter of minutes. If Professor Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive, what was Professor Snape next to him? 

    “I believe your problem has been solved?” Professor Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. 

    Harry snapped his attention back to the present. “Thank you, professor,” he said. “But we don’t know who it belonged to.” 

    He didn’t mention the fact that they had already figured out that there had to be two rings, nor that they suspected Daphne. Baseless accusations had already gotten one Slytherin in trouble, and Harry had not forgotten Malfoy’s reaction to being wrong. He never wanted to look that silly, and so he was determined to never _be_ wrong – or to keep his reactions to being wrong internal, where they could not be used against him. 

    “We don’t know how it got onto my finger, either,” Hermione piped up. “Or how it got through the wards – they’re supposed to keep Dark magic out.” 

    Professor Snape raised his eyebrow again. “I am aware of how the Hogwarts wards work, Miss Granger. They do not block out _all_ Dark magic – it blocks out dark and malicious magic. As to the owner of the ring… They should be walking through the door at any moment.” 

    The next moment, the door to Professor Snape’s office flew open and Daphne Greengrass stumbled in, her face pale and drawn. 

    “Miss Greengrass,” Professor Snape said. “What a surprise.” He stood and walked over to the girl, his wand still in his grasp. “Hold out your left hand, please.” 

    Shaking, Daphne did as he asked. Her eyes had yet to stray from Professor Snape – it was entirely likely that she had no idea Hermione and Harry were there. Professor Snape cast one more spell – Harry had another moment to appreciate the fact that this one had been wordless – and the ring encircling Daphne’s finger was revealed. 

    The difference between the ring that had been on Hermione’s finger and the ring that was on Daphne’s finger were immediately obvious. Where Hermione’s ring had actually looked like a ring, Daphne’s almost encased her entire finger, the metal _moving_. There was something in the air, too, something that sent a light shiver down Harry’s spine. 

    “I thought as much,” Professor Snape said. “I would have thought you would know better than to take things from your father, Miss Greengrass.” 

    Daphne made a sound of disagreement. “I didn’t take it.” 

    “And yet you have it on your person,” Professor Snape replied, raising an eyebrow. “Does that mean he forced it onto your finger?” 

    She flushed. “No, sir,” she murmured, her eyes flicking down to the ground. 

    “And using it to spy on Miss Granger? I can think of far better uses for this trinket.” 

    “He never said it would grow like this,” Daphne said, her voice trembling. 

    Professor Snape shook his head. “It will come off, Miss Greengrass. It just needs a helping hand.” He raised his wand again. 

    Daphne took a step back. “I can’t take it off,” she cried. “My father will be disappointed in me.” 

    _“She is scared, speaker,”_ Erus hissed into Harry’s ear. _“Of the fact that her father will be disappointed._ _She reeks of it._ _”_  

    Harry shrugged. _“She could be like me, and her father could be like the Dursleys. That would make anyone scared.”_  

    _“The Dursleys are big and fat and slow,”_ Erus replied. _“Were I large enough, I would have eaten them long ago.”_  

    _“And if Daphne’s father is the same?”_  

    Erus considered. _“If she wasn’t so rude, I would say she would be a good addition to our nest.”_  

    _“Access to Dark artefacts would be nice,”_ Harry replied. _“But I do not like the way she treats Hermione.”_  

    _“So she will not be part of the nest… But we could always use her…”_  

    Harry ran a finger down her head. _“You speak as though you’re anticipating a war,”_ he noted. 

    _“Perhaps I am,”_ Erus replied. _“I can sense a fight approaching. Perhaps not here, or now… But soon. A fight to the death.”_ She twisted to look him in the eye. _“Will you be the better hunter, speaker?”_  

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    “So the ring was growing?” Ron demanded. 

    Hermione nodded. “Apparently the first ring feeds off the desire to listen,” she explained. “So whenever Daphne wanted to hear what we were talking about – which, I might add, is what activated the secondary ring – her ring grew.” 

    “How big could it have gotten?” Ron looked intrigued. 

    “Professor Snape didn’t say,” Hermione said. “But I think it could have potentially covered her entirely, if she was silly enough to keep wanting to listen.” 

    Harry, who had missed all of this information while he was speaking with Erus, ran a hand through his hair. “She was already getting scared of how it was growing though,” Harry pointed out. 

    Hermione sniffed. “So she has _some_ sense. I would have researched the rings before just putting them on myself _or_ someone else.” 

    “Served her right,” Ron said, nudging Scabbers with the tip of his wand. The rat made a quiet noise, indicating he was still alive, but didn’t move. “She shouldn’t have played with something she didn’t understand.” 

    “Right,” Harry and Hermione chorused in agreement. 

    Ron turned to Harry. “Are you going to tell us about what happened with Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore?” 

    “Before that,” Harry said, “I think I need to fill you in on some things that I haven’t had a chance to tell you.” 

    Harry paused to gather his thoughts and check that they were still very much alone. Most of the Slytherins – and indeed, the rest of the school – had elected to stay in their common room in the evenings after class, so the three first years basically had the entire library to themselves. There were a few study cubicles in use, but there were silencing charms erected around them anyway. The people inside them could hear nothing, so the three Slytherins were safe to talk. 

    “You recall how we couldn’t figure out why Professor Quirrell would want the Stone?” At his friends’ nods, he continued. “I asked Erus to follow him, to see if he would go for the Stone. And to see if we could figure out what he wanted, of course.” 

    “Of course,” Ron echoed. 

    “When I followed Professor Snape, I found him with Professor Quirrell and Erus. Erus stopped me from speaking Parseltongue, and Professor Snape was accusing Professor Quirrell of letting the troll in. He said Professor Quirrell has an affinity with them.” 

    “It means he can manipulate them more easily than other,” Hermione explained quickly to Ron, who looked a little confused. 

    “But Erus had something else to add,” Harry went on. Settled on the table, Erus perked up at the sound of her name. “Professor Quirrell has another face.” 

    “You mean he’s two-faced?” Hermione interrupted, her eyes narrowed. 

    Harry frowned. “If that’s what I meant, that’s what I would have said,” he replied. “He literally has another face, hidden beneath his turban.” 

    “How’d she find that out?” Ron asked. 

    “It spoke to her,” Harry replied. “In Parseltongue.” 

    There was a lengthy silence after this piece of information, and Harry was more than happy to let his friends digest it. He sat back, eyes flicking every so often to the Restricted Section, and then to the library entrance. They would, it seemed, have to wait until next year to try and get into the Restricted Section with the rate things were currently progressing. This would perhaps be to their advantage – they would be more proficient in magic and would have a better idea of what spells they were interested in learning. 

    “There hasn’t been another Parselmouth – apart from you – since You Know Who,” Ron finally said. 

    “How is having two faces even possible?” Hermione muttered. 

    Ron blinked at her. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” 

    “Well, it’s a logical question. How long has he had this second face? If it can speak Parseltongue but he can’t –” 

    “The first day,” Harry interrupted. “When you told everyone I was a Parselmouth. Do you remember it?” 

    Hermione looked annoyed at being interrupted. “Of course I do.” 

    “Do you remember what they said about Voldemort?” Harry continued. 

    Furrowing her brow, Hermione thought. “They said he was dead,” she replied slowly. 

    Harry shook his head. “No. They said he was _gone_.” 

    “Please don’t tell me you’re going to say what I think you are,” Ron said in a small voice. 

    Harry glanced at his friend. “I don’t think Voldemort died,” he told them bluntly. “I think he somehow managed to survive, but he must have been really hurt to need to live on Professor Quirrell.” 

    “Possession can only be done by a being of spirit,” Hermione put in. “If that _is_ Voldemort on the back of Professor Quirrell’s head, then he doesn’t have a body. So technically the curse _did_ kill him.” 

    “He’s not just a ghost?” Ron asked. 

    Hermione shook her head. “Ghosts can’t possess people. I haven’t read enough to tell you _why_ , but it’s a proven fact that they can’t.” 

    “And this is why Professor Quirrell wants the Stone,” Harry said. “He wants Voldemort to come alive again.” 

    “But why?” Ron asked. “He wasn’t a Death Eater – he doesn’t have the mark!” 

    “Regardless,” Hermione said, before Harry could ask about the mark Ron was talking about, “if Professor Quirrell really _does_ have Voldemort’s spirit possessing him, he would have had to let him in. Spirits can’t possess people without their express permission.” 

    “So even if he doesn’t have the mark, he’s a Death Eater?” 

    Hermione nodded. “It would appear so.” 

    Harry cleared his throat. “I have a question, but it can wait until I’ve finished. Are you ready for the rest?” 

    When Harry told them about how much he’d revealed to Professor Snape, Hermione was furious. Ron was concerned. But when he told them about his conversation with Professor Dumbledore, and how the man had dodged his questions… 

    “I couldn’t trust him with what we knew,” Harry explained. “Erus told me I should keep my cards close as well – she was less reserved with Professor Snape.” 

    “But still worried that he wasn’t the best person to talk to?” Hermione asked. 

    Harry shrugged. “Erus doesn’t like many people,” he said. “She disliked Professor Snape less than she disliked Professor Dumbledore.” 

    “But she likes us, yeah?” Ron asked, sending a worried glance towards Erus. 

    Harry’s mouth turned up in the corner when Erus hissed a laugh. “If she didn’t like you, Ron, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

    “Oh,” said his friend. 

    “So Professor Snape knows about our involvement with the troll?” Hermione demanded. 

    Harry pulled one shoulder up in an unconcerned shrug. “I think he suspects. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer any information. In any case, he doesn’t think Ron has anything to do with this.” 

    Hermione’s lip quirked. “So just you and I.” 

    “Did you tell him I’m part of it?” Ron asked. “Because if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be watched by Professor Snape.” 

    “Erus and I were in agreement not to correct him,” Harry replied. “You’re our ace, Ron.” 

    Sensibly, Ron didn’t look relieved. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said. Harry just grinned at his friend, sharp and bright. 

    “It just means that if there’s something Harry or I can’t do without arousing suspicion,” Hermione explained, “ _you_ can, and you won’t be suspected.” 

    “I _really_ don’t like the sound of that,” Ron groaned. 

    Hermione glanced at Harry. “You said you had a question.” 

    “Oh,” Harry said. “It’s nothing important, I was just curious about what mark you were referring to.” 

    The other two Slytherins blinked at him. Wordlessly, Hermione got to her feet and vanished into the shelves, while Ron sat with Harry and shook his head. 

    “Blimey, how do you not know that?” Ron muttered, and Harry would have taken offense but he could see the fond amusement in Ron’s expression. 

    Hermione returned with a dusty book that she placed on the table in front of Harry. “This will tell you everything you need to know, Harry. Read it when you have the chance, there’s a lot of information in here.” 

    Harry glanced down to read the title, and felt the scar on his forehead give a tingle of pain in response. 

_The Rise and Fall of The Dark Lord_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter~ There's not many left, and we've actually caught up to where I've written to, so the next chapter might take a while. And while I plan to write the following books in this AU, I have no idea how long it will take me. So just a heads up for those of you who actually read the notes :)


	20. What Harry Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They tell you "There is nothing to fear but fear itself", but you have seen yourself in the mirror._

    _“… which became known as the Dark Mark, and was found on the forearm of every Death Eater.”_

    Harry glanced at Erus. _“Do you think it’s bad that I want a book like this on me?”_    

_“I think it does not matter,”_ Erus replied, spread out over the table. She liked to stretch over tables, although Harry wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was just measuring herself. _“If you want to be remembered, this seems to be the best way to go about it.”_

_“But I don’t agree with Voldemort at all,”_ Harry protested. _“Especially not about purebloods and muggleborns. And I don’t think I’d ever force someone to join me – unwilling people are more likely to betray you in the end.”_

    Erus moved to coil around Harry’s throat, her tongue flicking against the skin of Harry’s chin. _“Perhaps I am not the best one to be talking to about this, speaker. You should ask your friends.”_

    Harry chewed on his lip. _"But what if they hate me for it?"_ he asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice. It was silly, he knew Ron and Hermione wouldn't hurt him like that. But the possibility was always there, and he couldn't help but feel like happiness he had found at Hogwarts would be taken from him.

    _“If you think your bloody one or your clever one will abandon you over this, you have not chosen your friends wisely, speaker,”_ Erus replied.

    _“I’ve chosen wisely,”_ Harry said. _“I just can’t help it.”_

    _“Speak with them,”_ Erus advised. _“You will not learn anything if you do not ask.”_

    Harry turned to the next page, formulating a response, when he was interrupted. “Ah, M-Mister P-Potter,” came the distinctive voice from behind him, and he turned in his chair to see Professor Quirrell coming up behind him, a tremulous smile on his face.

    “Professor Quirrell,” Harry replied, “how are you today?” Erus hissed wordlessly, her entire body showcasing her nervousness. Harry ran a finger down her head in response, pretending to glance at her in concern. In response, she coiled up his arm to rest her head by his ear.

    “I am w-well, t-thank you,” Professor Quirrell said. He glanced down at the book Harry was reading, obviously recognising it by the title. “An i-interesting choice, M-Mister P-Potter. H-He Who M-Must Not B-Be Named is a s-subject I am s-sure you are m-most interested in.”

    Harry nodded. “He killed my parents. Since I found out, I’ve wondered _why_. As interesting as the book is, it hasn’t told me yet.”

    “It won’t,” Professor Quirrell said, his voice flat and certain for a moment. “Nothing will. They can only s-speculate, after all.”

    _Only one stutter,_ Harry thought. _Am I being tested?_

    “Your pet i-is a l-lovely creature,” Professor Quirrell continued.

    Harry pinned the older man with a glare. “Erus is not a pet, Professor. She is my companion.”

    _“He is looking for a response,”_ Erus hissed quietly. Harry could hardly hear her, but there was no option for him to respond that wouldn’t result in Professor Quirrell, and whatever – _whoever_ – occupied the back of his head, overhearing.

    But then again, would it matter? If Voldemort had been with Professor Quirrell for the entirety of the school year, then wouldn’t he know that Harry was a Parselmouth?

    Harry decided not to risk it, instead keeping his gaze on the professor and continuing. “I would be grateful if you didn’t call her a pet, Professor. I did not buy her, and she is free to leave whenever she wishes.”

    “O-Of course,” Professor Quirrell replied, his stutter coming back. “I-I apologise, M-Mister P-Potter.”

    It was then that Harry realised he’d never actually heard Professor Quirrell _being_ a professor. While in his classes, Harry had never felt like he was truly learning anything that he wouldn’t have been able to learn from his books. Even in Professor Binns class there were instances where the ghost had surprising insights – although they were rare.

    Professor Quirrell had never, in Harry’s memory, acted like a professor.

    He waited until the man was gone before standing up to find Hermione and Ron, Erus coiled around his throat and the book – _the book_ – tucked under his arm.

 

-x-x-x- 

 

    Hermione chewed on her lip, eyebrows furrowed as they sat on the grass beside the lake. “Now that you’ve pointed it out, it is blindingly obvious. Nothing he’s taught us has been from outside of the textbook. What do we do now?” she asked, her brown eyes dark and uncertain. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen her so worried.

    “I think we’re supposed to rely on grown-ups at this point,” Ron replied. “I could write to my mum.”

    “But if Professor Dumbledore knows…”

    “There has to be a reason,” Ron argued back. “Something we’re not seeing.”

    Harry considered that. If _they_ had noticed Quirrell was a professor only in name, Professor Dumbledore had to know. Harry had spent enough time around Aunt Petunia to know when people _knew_ things, and knew what people looked like when they hoarded secrets. Professor Dumbledore definitely had that look about him.

    “Maybe,” he said into the quiet, a gentle breeze tugging at his hair, “maybe we’re not supposed to see anything.”

    Ron’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

    “Have you noticed anyone else that says Quirrell doesn’t act like a professor?” Harry asked. At the responding headshake, he continued. “We’re only children – why would an adult worry about what we notice? If Professor Dumbledore hired Quirrell for a reason, he didn’t think we’d figure it out.”

    “But what do we do?” Hermione demanded, for once the impatient one. “We’re being taught by a complete _fake_ – he’s wasting so much of our time!”

    The boys looked at one another and shook their heads. “We can’t _do_ anything,” Harry said.

    “But I could have been _learning_ ,” Hermione said shrilly. “This – this _fake_ has been wasting my time for almost an entire _year_.”

    “There has to be a reason,” Ron maintained. “Even if we’re not supposed to _know_ , Professor Dumbledore would have a reason.”

    Hermione dug her fingers into the grass, her expression still fierce and full of anger. “ _Reasons_ ,” she hissed. “I’m never going to get back this year.”

    “It’s not like you really need it,” Harry tried. “You’re so smart already – and besides, you’ve read more on every subject than any of us.”

    “It hardly matters what I read if I have that… that _fake_ teaching me _nothing_!”

    “I think you need to come up with some new insults,” Ron said, grinning.

    Hermione turned, her eyes burning. The grin slid from Ron’s face like butter off hot toast. “Oh, do I?” she asked, her voice decidedly deadly. “Is that what you think, Ronald Bilius Weasley?”

    Harry watched, amused, as Ron’s face slowly leached of colour. “I-I’ve never told you my full name,” he stammered.

    “Do you think someone like _me_ would have trouble finding out your _name_?” Hermione demanded.

    “I’d be more curious as to why you even went to the effort of finding out,” Harry said.

    Hermione turned away, her nose in the air. “Did you see the look on his face?” she asked. “It wasn’t a complete waste of time. Not like the _fake’s_ lessons.”

    “We could always go to Professor Snape if you want to go to an adult so badly,” Harry pointed out, tapping out a broken rhythm on his thigh. “I don’t think your mother would have the weight we need. Besides, you said that your family trusts Professor Dumbledore. If he lies to them, they’ll believe him, won’t they?”

    “Why would he lie to them? He’s supposed to be good!”

    Hermione snorted. “Everybody lies, Ron. Just because someone is good doesn’t mean they don’t lie.”

    “And he might lie because whatever the reasons for Quirrell being here, he thinks that’s more important than first year education in one subject,” Harry added. “If you want, we can talk about this later. I only just realised it myself – it’s good to know that you two noticed as well.”

    “At least one of us did, anyway,” Hermione muttered, glaring at Ron who stuck his tongue out in response. Hermione’s eyes landed on the book Harry had in his lap, his fingers absently stroking the letters of the cover. “What did you think?”

    Harry blinked at her. “Hmm?”

    “Of the book.” She reached over and tapped it with her finger, as though making sure he knew what she was talking about this time. “What did you think?”

    Harry hesitated. This was his chance, the perfect moment to tell them, all he had to do was _say it_.

    “I want a book like this written about me,” he blurted out, stumbling over his words and wishing he’d said nothing at all.

    The strength of that wish only intensified when Harry heard a terrified sound from behind him and turned to see three Gryffindors – Neville Longbottom (the source of the noise), Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas – standing behind him.

    He blinked at them stupidly for a moment before opening his mouth again to try and fix the situation.

    “Save it, snake,” Seamus hissed. “We all heard you. You want to be the next Dark Lord.”

    Ron turned to him, eyes wide. “What do you mean, the next Dark Lord? When did you say that?”

    “I heard him say he wanted a book written about him,” Hermione mused. “Perhaps my ears aren’t working properly.”

    “A book like that,” Seamus replied, jerking his chin at the book Harry was still holding, “is only written about you after you’re dead.”

    “Then he’ll die with something people can remember him by,” Hermione said.

    “A book about yourself, Harry? Aren’t there a few already?” Ron asked.

    Harry felt a flush rising along the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted quietly.

    “What do you mean you wouldn’t know?” Seamus demanded. “You’re bloody Harry Potter. I knew your name before I knew my own.”

    Gritting his teeth, Harry replied, “I spent my life in the muggle world. I didn’t know about this – about magic – until I came here.”

    Both boys snorted, and Neville looked a little incredulous. “As if,” Seamus said.

    “I’ll bet you went to bed with a second-hand book of spells tucked under your pillow,” Dean added.

    Harry slowly rose to his feet. “It must be nice,” he said, his voice soft. Erus gave a warning hiss. “To know everything.”

    Dean faltered first. “I never said I knew everything,” he replied, dark eyes flicking from the agitated Erus to Harry’s expression.

    “Yet you know all about me,” Harry said, fingers tapping along the edge of his wand in his pocket. “I must admit, I’m impressed. You must know everything about me. All that I’ve done, all that I’ve missed.”

    “A rich, famous kid like yourself doesn’t know anything about us,” Seamus scoffed. “I’ll bet you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, I’ll bet your muggle family treated you like a prince, I’ll bet –”

    He said no more, because Harry cast a silencing charm on him. He didn’t remember saying the word, not really, but it lingered in the air. Harry rolled his shoulder.

    _“Their words are stupid, speaker. I would kill them.”_

    _“Stupid they might sound, but it tells me something very important,”_ Harry replied. He turned to his friends. “Is that what you thought I’d grown up with?” he asked.

    Ron shrugged. “Well, yeah. Makes sense.”

    “I assumed you had a normal life,” Hermione replied. “Why would we think any different?”

    _“There is truth in their words, speaker. If you are as beloved by this world as it seems, I do not think you would have been left as you have.”_

    “Who put me with them?” Harry asked. “Who left me with the Dursleys?”

    The other children looked at each other. “I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “If your parents had a will –”

    _“What is a will, speaker?”_ Erus asked.

    Harry shook his head. _“I don’t know.”_ He returned his attention to the group. “I grew up with muggles who never told me I had magic,” he told them. “I grew up with an awful uncle, a mean cousin, and an aunt who always looked the other way except when she had something to ‘teach’ me. Whatever you think I grew up with, you’re wrong.

    “Do any of these books about me tell you that?” he demanded, fingers curled into fists. “Do they tell you that I never knew I was anything but a freak, a weirdo who could _do_ things that made my aunt and uncle mad? I’ll bet they didn’t, did they?”

    Harry stopped, heart racing and face pale as he realised exactly what he had just done. He’d just admitted to being a freak, to being everything Dudley had ever called him. Harry spun on his heel and raced away, ignoring the calls from Hermione and Ron.

    He shouldn’t have lost his temper, he should never have revealed such important things. He should never have shown weakness to the Gryffindors – they would use it against him as surely as his fellow snakes would. There was no one to trust, no one –

    Harry collided with someone, staggering backwards into a wall and feeling the wind knocked out of him. He looked up, disorientated because it was only a moment ago that he had been outside, spilling all his dirty, nasty little secrets to people he couldn’t trust.

    To people he couldn't afford to trust.

    “If you have an apology to make, Mr Potter, make it now.”

    Harry blinked at Professor Snape, words abruptly rushing back into his mouth as he connected the sequence of events – his mouth running away from him, him fleeing, and running directly into Professor Snape of all people.

    “I’m sorry, Professor,” he said, the words rushing together. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, it won’t happen again.”

    Harry’s Head of House peered down at him, his dark eyes settling on Erus coiled around Harry’s neck. Harry jerked backwards, suddenly sure that Professor Snape was somehow going to take his anger out on Erus. He couldn’t very well hurt a student, but a snake?

    “Is there something… wrong with your snake?” the professor asked.

    Only then did Harry realise Erus was hissing, her whole body vibrating with it. He reached up, and she coiled around his hands and raised herself to look him in the eye.

    _“We should not have run, speaker,”_ she said, her tail flicking from side to side. _“You did no wrong, and there was always going to be a time where they would know.”_

    _“But not like that,”_ Harry whispered back. _“There was a time, a place – a_ plan _. I was going to tell them, just not like that.”_

    _“We cannot plan everything, speaker.”_

    _“I can try.”_ He looked away from Erus, feeling calmer. “I apologise again, professor. There isn’t an excuse for my behaviour,” _that you will accept_ , he thought to himself, “but I am sorry. And thank you for asking about Erus. She’s fine.”

    Professor Snape continued to look at him, and Harry could feel unease rising inside his chest again. He fought to keep his expression blank, to keep his heart in his chest where it belonged. He was too off balance for this, too exposed. He needed to hide away again, to protect himself.

    “If you are done, Mr Potter,” the professor finally replied, “you had best be on your way. I recall there being a report you haven’t finished for my class.”

    “Yes, Professor Snape.”

    The professor said nothing more, but turned and walked away in a swirl of his black cloak. Harry watched him go.

_“He is very dramatic.”_

    Harry held back a snort of laughter. _“He is. I wonder what he gains from it.”_

    “What are you doing in the middle of the hall, Potter?” Malfoy demanded from behind him. “And where are your friends?”

    Harry turned around – Malfoy was approaching him with Pansy, Theo and Blaise in tow. There was no sign of Crabbe or Goyle. Harry still felt raw around the edges, exposed in ways he hadn't felt for a few years.

    But he could put on a show for his fellow Slytherins. He smiled at Malfoy, Erus whispering her support in his ear.

    “What do you mean?” Harry asked. “My friends are right here.”

    Malfoy started to turn his head, and then seemed to realize what Harry was implying. “I meant Weasley and Granger,” he said in response, his brow furrowing. “They’re usually joined to your hip.”

    “I could say the same about you in regards to Crabbe and Goyle.” Harry made a show of looking to either side of the blonde boy.

    Malfoy shrugged lazily. “They had other places to be.”

    Theo snorted. “They’re in detention,” he explained. “I believe Professor Snape said their assignments were ‘unworthy of the paper they were written on’. And something about being a disgrace to the Slytherin House.”

    “I think he just wanted to get in before Professor McGonagall,” Pansy said, smirking.

    “And you, Potter? Where are yours?” Zabini asked, his golden eyes almost predatory. Erus hissed quietly, before sliding back under Harry’s collar.

    “If you mean us, we’re right here,” Ron said, and Harry raised his eyes to see his two friends standing behind the other Slytherins. Ron had his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed as he studied the four Slytherins. Hermione was relaxed at his side, her arms hanging loose at her sides.

    “I’m touched by how obviously concerned you are about my friends,” Harry said with another bright smile.  “It’s very nice of you, Draco.”

    Draco inclined his head. "We snakes need to look out for one another, Potter. Who else will?"

     "Oh, I don't imagine many people," Ron replied. "Can't say we've made many friends over the year."

     "Sometimes the only way to go about things is by doing it your way," Pansy said.

    Hermione nodded. "Certainly. But I think it's important to remember that _your_ way is not always _your parents_ way."

     Pansy and Draco flinched, Ron and Hermione watching them with hawk-like intensity. Harry nodded in agreement.

    "If I followed my parents, I would be in Gryffindor," he said with a laugh. "I should go; I have a report to finish for Professor Snape."

     "Bloody hell," Ron swore. "I haven't done that either. Let's go to the library, Harry."

     Hermione shook her head. "You two are hopeless."

     There was no way to decline their presence without alerting the other Slytherins to there being something wrong, so Harry led the way to the library. The three of them were quiet, Ron and Hermione having obviously decided to let Harry speak first.

    It was only when they were all seated and had pulled out their parchment, quills and inks that Harry found he could talk.

    "I'm sorry I ran off like that, it was uncalled for. You two have done nothing wrong."

    "I don't know why you're apologising, Harry. You didn't do anything wrong, either," Hermione replied. "Wanting a book written about you is nothing to be ashamed of."

     "I didn't know you grew up like that," Ron said. "I should've, what with how you never knew anything about this, about magic."

    Harry clenched his jaw. "It wasn't something I wanted everyone to know."

     "You didn't want anyone to know," Ron said quietly. "I won't say I understand, but I don't think either Hermione or I would say anything _bad_ about you because of it..."

    "Harry, my parents are muggles," Hermione cut in, and when Harry looked up her eyes were clear, her mouth in a frown. "They're muggle _dentists_. You and Ron will be two of the only people who won't make fun of me - Ron because he doesn't know what a dentist is, and you... Well, I don't think you're the kind of person who would make fun of me for that."

    "Well if you explained what a den-tist is," Ron muttered, the skin beneath his freckles turning pink with embarrassment.

    "Dentists look at people's teeth," Harry said absently. "They make sure that they're healthy."

    "And to the wizarding world, that sort of thing is unnecessary."

    "I've never heard of a wizard den-tist," Ron confirmed. "Dad loves muggle stuff, he might know of them. Is it like a job? People pay them to look at their teeth?"

    Hermione nodded. "It's quite a good career, if you want to have a lot of money," she added.

    Harry thought of the money in his vault and decided not to say anything about it. He wondered if he'd ever need to _have_ a job when he grew up.

    "My point," Hermione said to Harry, "is that we are friends. I've been reading up on the subject, and from what I've read, we're _supposed_ to trust each other with these sorts of things. The time frame on when exactly this trust was supposed to develop wasn't very clear."

    Ron sighed. "Hermione, to can't explain friendship with books. Stick to your options and your spells, okay?"

    Hermione made an annoyed sound. "Lecture me about what you can and can't learn when you can do your reports without me."

    _"Feisty, your clever one,"_ Erus murmured. _"You must decide whether or not you are willing to trust them so early. You have not even known them a year."_

     "Look," Ron said, "if you're not okay with us knowing whatever is going on with you, that's fine. You'll tell us when you're ready, I guess."

    The table was silent for a few moments before Hermione muttered, "You two had better get these reports done for Professor Snape. I have some important reading to do." She got up and disappeared between the shelves.

     "I mean it, Harry," Ron said, suddenly quiet and fierce. "You can tell us, whenever you're ready."

    Harry nodded, for once unable to speak around the lump in his throat. The two worked in silence for a time, until Hermione signalled her return by almost slamming the biggest book Harry had ever seen onto the table beside him.

    "Blimey, Hermione," Ron said.

    Harry couldn't help but agree with him. "What's that?" he asked curiously, trying to read the title. Hermione's hand splayed over the book, obscuring the words.

    "Not until you're finished your reports," she replied with a sharp smile. The boys shared a glance and silently agreed that arguing wouldn’t do any good.

    Not ten minutes later, Harry put down his quill and cleared his throat. Hermione’s head snapped up from the book, her face showing her annoyance at being interrupted. It cleared a little when she saw his expression, and Harry wondered how easy he was to read for his friends. A potential problem, should he ever need to hide anything from them.

    “I haven’t read the books on me,” Harry admitted, glancing over to see Ron watching him expectantly. “I don’t know what they say.”

    “They say that you defeated You Know Who,” Ron replied.

    “There’s a lot of information about your family – about your grandparents, your mother and father. But other than you defeating You Know Who, there’s not a lot on you personally.”

    _“You were but a hatchling, speaker,”_ Erus reminded him.

“The books don’t say where I went?” Harry asked. “Why I went there?” His two friends shook their heads.

    _“Shouldn’t there have been something?”_ Harry asked Erus anxiously. He repeated the question to his friends before she could answer.

    Hermione tapped her chin. “Maybe it was to keep you safe,” she suggested. “You _killed_ Voldemort. I imagine you would have been hunted by his followers.”

    _“Your clever one is right, speaker.”_

    However right Hermione was, it didn’t calm the flood of anxiety in Harry’s stomach. His fingers were still on the table, but he thought that the sound of his heart was loud enough to hear. He’d thought _someone_ would know, he’d thought that there would be someone he could blame for not saving him.

    Someone other than Dumbledore, of course. While Harry knew he couldn’t trust the Headmaster blindly, and so hadn’t. But it was one thing to not trust him, and entirely another to be able to blame Dumbledore for the suffering he’d endured so far.

    “Harry?” Ron asked.

    He would wait, then. It was dangerous ground to tread as it was. Harry nodded to himself before addressing his friends. “It’s okay. I’m not ready to tell you yet. You’ll both just have to be patient.”

    Hermione pursed her lips. “I hope you’ve both been studying hard,” she said. “Exams are very close.”

    Ron sat up. “ _Exams_?” he repeated. “You mean there are _exams_ coming up? I had _no idea_ , Hermione.”

    “It’s not like you’ve told us fifty thousand times already,” Harry added.

    She sent them both a dirty look. “You’ll be thanking me when exams hit,” she sniffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. I'm not dead. Surprise!


	21. Through the Trapdoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Devour the monsters and you can call any place home._

    They were, indeed, thanking Hermione when exams rolled around. Thanks to Hermione’s thorough study timetable, all three of them were confident they’d passed.

    There was still the issue of the Stone. Harry’s feeling that something was coming had not disappeared – rather, it grew stronger with every passing day. He, Hermione and Ron all took turns coming up with ideas on how to handle the situation that they were sure would arise.

    And arise it did.

    The night after they’d finished their exams, Harry woke up with a start. His scar throbbed, burned, sending flares of pain through his forehead and across his cheekbones. Erus slithered up his arm in alarm.

    _“Speaker?”_

    Harry made no answer, getting out of bed as quietly as he could. The pain brought tears to his eyes, but he wiped them away aggressively and placed his glasses on his nose. The blurry room sharpened, and Harry was relieved to see that the other boys had not woken up.

    _“Speaker?”_

    Harry moved to Ron’s bed, carefully pulling Ron’s curtains to see his friend. He whispered a quiet, “ _Silencio_ ,” and shook Ron awake.

    Ron’s blue eyes snapped open, his shoulder tense beneath Harry’s fingers. But he saw Harry, saw the tightness in Harry’s jaw, and sat up quietly. Harry beckoned Ron outside, and the two of them grabbed their robes and left their room as quietly as possible.

    “ _Finite_ ,” Harry murmured once they were out of the dorms.

    “What is it?” Ron whispered urgently.

    Harry rubbed his forehead viciously. “My scar,” he hissed back. “It’s hurting.”

    _“I will get your clever one, speaker.”_ Erus didn’t wait for a response, letting herself fall to the floor with a low thump. Harry didn’t watch her slither off – with her colouring, she was almost invisible on the carpet in the darkness of the night.

    “Erus is going to get Hermione,” Harry explained shortly. “I think it’s happening. Now.”

    Ron’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “We’re ready,” he said firmly.

    “We have to be,” Harry replied.

    It didn’t take long for Hermione to appear, but it felt like forever. Harry’s scar throbbed, the pain licking across his cheekbones. Every throb felt like an hour.

    “Well?” she asked. “I assume there’s a good reason for –”

    “The Stone,” Harry snapped. “It’s being taken. Now.”

    Hermione picked Erus up and handed her to Harry. “Let’s go,” she said simply.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    It wasn’t hard to get to the third corridor. Erus warned them of Mrs Norris, and they were careful to skirt around her. The door, when they arrived, was already ajar. Wordlessly, they stepped inside.

    Fluffy was snoring, a lute playing a quiet lullaby at his feet. Hermione nudged the two of them, pointing to the trapdoor. With a nod, the three Slytherins worked the trapdoor open and slipped inside.

    The ground they landed on was soft.

    “ _Lumos_ ,” Harry whispered. The light from the spell showed that they had landed on a plant with thick, moving tendrils.

    “Oh,” said Hermione softly. “Don’t move. We’ve landed on Devil’s Snare.”

    Ron made a quiet sound of terror as a tendril slithered across his chest. “And how do we get _off_?”

    “We covered this in Herbology,” Harry said. “Come on, Ron. Think.”

    “I can’t think!”

    “Calm down and think,” Hermione replied sharply. “I’d say we have… 2 minutes until we’re completely engulfed.”

    Harry thought that was being _very_ generous, but he didn’t want to stress Ron out anymore. He wondered why Hermione didn’t just say the answer – but then noticed that she was shaking, her eyes bright in the light from his wand.

    “It likes the dark and the damp,” Ron muttered. “So, we need a fire.”

    “There’s no wood,” Hermione blurted out, and it was now very obvious she was panicking.

    Ron looked at her, shocked. “Are you a witch or a Muggle?” he demanded.

    “I – oh, of course.” She flourished her wand and muttered a spell, and bluebell coloured flames leapt from the end of her wand. The Devil’s Snare recoiled and within a few seconds all three of them were free of the plant.

    Ron staggered to his feet and stared at Hermione for a long moment before shaking his head. “There’s no wood,” he muttered to himself.

    Harry frowned at him. “It’s understandable,” he said. “We can’t always keep our cool all the time.”

    “Yeah, but –” Ron gestured to the only way out, and the three of them started walking. “There’s no wood?”

    “I will point out I’ve only known about magic for less than a year,” Hermione said stiffly, fingers tight around her wand. “But I regret freezing like that.”

    “We could have been killed because you froze!” Ron shook his head.

    “That’s enough,” Harry snapped. “Ron, let it go. Hermione, I don’t think any less of you.”

    Silence descended on the trio as they continued. The sound of fluttering and clinking reached their ears at the same time, and with a shared glance of apprehension, they stepped into a brightly lit chamber with high arching ceilings.

    The first thing Harry noticed was that the air was full of glittering, rainbow wings. The three Slytherins stared at them for a moment before Ron interrupted.

    “There’s the next door,” he said. He started for it, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

    “Don’t be stupid,” she told him, sounding pleased to be able to tell him off. Harry supposed it was only right that she got to, after Ron had made such a fuss of her forgetting magic. “They,” she gestured at the flying things in the air, “could be dangerous.”

    Ron shook out of her grip and grumbled. “Harry?” he asked, shooting a glare at Hermione that she ignored.

    Erus, who had been content to sit silently around his throat, emerged to look curiously around the room. _“I taste metal, speaker. And your predator stick.”_

    Harry fought not to smile at Erus’ description of brooms. He’d noticed the brooms himself, sitting innocuously against the left wall. They would have to do _something_ to get through the door – and if he was correct, this was Professor Flitwick’s challenge.

“Let’s see if we can open the door first,” Harry murmured, taking a few sure steps into the room. When nothing interesting happened, he shrugged and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the door. “ _Alohomora_.”

    When the distinct click failed to sound, Harry turned his wand to the wings swarming above them and said, “ _Accio key_.”

    He grinned when nothing came to him. “Looks like we have to fly to get it. Any ideas what we’re looking for?”

    Ron examined the lock and announced, “We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned key. The handle is silver, so the key probably is too.”

    Hermione examined the swarm above them critically. “There’s too many to spot it from down here, but I don’t think the key will want to be caught. Maybe one of us should stay on the ground, to keep it up high.”

    “You just –” Ron started, but a warning look from Harry sent him into silence. Instead of finishing his sentence, he went a grabbed two of the broomsticks and brought them over. “Let’s go.”

    “Hermione, call out if you see it. If you’re right and the key doesn’t want to be caught, it’s probably flying differently to the others. Quirrell would have had to catch it too.”

    “Got it,” she replied. She reached up and tied the messy strands of her hair out of her face. “You and Ron start flying.”

    The two boys mounted and pushed into the air, scanning the swarm for a key that looked like it was flying differently. It was hard, because there was so many, but eventually Harry saw the big silver key with pretty blue wings. One of its wings was partially crushed, giving it an awkward, jerky flight.

    “There!” he shouted, pointing to it. Ron saw it after a second, and the two of them swerved towards it. They herded it towards the wall, Hermione running underneath it to keep it high. Harry feinted and snatched for it, catching the key out of the air. He winced when he felt his fingers crushing the keys’ wings.

    They landed, and Harry unlocked the door before releasing the key. Now far more battered, the key struggled to re-join its fellows. Harry turned away, straightening his spine. Never again.

    The next room was dark until they stepped into it. In the sudden bright light, the three Slytherins were confronted with something they all recognised – a chess set.

    Harry and Hermione seemed to agree on how to proceed, because they both turned to Ron at the same time. The tips of Ron’s ears turned red, but he studied the board for a moment.

    “It looks like we have to play.”

    Hermione blinked at the board. “Are we going to have to direct the pieces? Like how we would normally play? Who will direct the other pieces?”

    Ron shook his head. “ _We’re_ going to have to play,” he said, and Harry saw the moment it dawned on Hermione.

    “Take the place of the chess pieces?” Harry asked, confirming their suspicions.

    “This sounds… Incredibly dangerous.” Hermione stared at the towering chess pieces.

    Harry tilted his head. “More dangerous than a mountain troll?”

    Hermione brightened. “Maybe we can just blow it up,” she suggested.

    “I hope I never hear you sound so excited about blowing something up,” Ron muttered, before marching forward and placing his hand on the closest black piece. The knight turned to look at Ron, the stone hooves of his horse pawing the ground. “Do we have to join you to cross?”

    The knight nodded, and Harry heard Hermione sigh from behind him.

    “I suppose we’ll have to take the place of three pieces,” Ron said, turning to regard the board. When he turned back to them, Harry was unsurprised to see his eyes were calculating, measuring. He smiled at Ron, trusting that his friend would get them through the obstacle without harm.

    Ron nodded to himself. “Harry, bishop. Hermione, castle. I’ll be a knight.”

    At Ron’s words, the three pieces mentioned stepped off the board, turning into immovable stone the moment they were off the board. Harry, Hermione and Ron took their places.

    “White moves first,” Hermione muttered to herself, and none of them were unsurprised when a white pawn moved forward two paces.

    Ron was ruthless. For every piece they lost, Ron took delight in taking one of theirs. It was a little worrying to see the remains of the pieces piling up on either side of the board. Twice, he only barely managed to save Harry and Hermione from being taken out.

    “We’re almost through,” Ron said, scanning the board. “Let’s see…”

    _“What will you do, speaker? When you have caught the not-mouse one who wishes to steal?”_ Erus asked suddenly. _“And why does it concern you so?”_

    _“I will do whatever the situation demands,”_ Harry replied neutrally. _“I am both younger and weaker. I will either have to play at that, or find some way to triumph.”_ He watched Ron muttering to himself for a moment, before adding, _“The man Quirrell wants to bring back is wrong. Bad.”_

    Erus nodded against his neck. _“I understand, speaker.”_

    “There’s no other way,” Ron announced, interrupting Harry’s talk with Erus. “I’ve got to be taken. That will leave Harry free to checkmate the king.”

    After watching how the chessmen dealt with opposing pieces, Harry couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure there’s no other way?” He scanned the board himself, quietly hoping he could see something Ron had missed.

    “Positive.” Ron threw him a smile. “You and Hermione can continue… I’ll wait here.”

    Hermione frowned at him. “This seems an awful lot like Gryffindor bravery,” she told him severely. “But if it’s the only way, we’ll come back for you as soon as we can, got it?”

    Ron laughed. “Got it,” he replied. “Remember, Harry – the king.”

    He stepped forward, and the queen pounced. Harry watched her heavy stone arm crash into his head and Ron crumpled. There hadn’t been a trace of fear on his face, though – just the fierce pride of knowing that he’d outsmarted Professor McGonagall’s chess set.

    At least, that was what Harry thought his friend would be happy about. Harry took confident steps three paces across, and was unsurprised when the king removed his crown and threw at Harry’s feet. The chessmen parted and bowed, and the two remaining Slytherins moved on.

    “He should be fine,” Hermione said. “Shouldn’t he?”

    “We should be quick,” was Harry’s only response. “We only have three more challenges – Quirrell, Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore’s.”

    _“He will be fine, speaker,”_ Erus hissed. _“Your bloody one is strong.”_

    _“Yes,”_ Harry agreed, thinking or Ron’s face as the queen had moved to hit him. _“He is.”_

    The two of them reached a door, and at Harry’s nod Hermione swung the door open. They moved inside, wands out and ready.

    “Oh my goodness,” Hermione said, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. Harry hastened to do the same – the troll smelled awful, and he didn’t think he could be blamed for racing across the room to the next door, Hermione hot on his heels.

    The next room was mercifully free of the smell.

    “That was a much larger troll than Hallowe’en,” Harry murmured to Hermione. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one.”

    Hermione snorted. “Don’t lie, Harry. You’re interested in how that spell would have worked against this troll. Quite poorly, I’d imagine.”

    Harry grinned. “You’re right, of course.” The room they’d entered contained only a table with seven differently shaped bottles lined up. The more interesting thing was the doors – the door behind them was covered in purple fire, while the door that lead onwards was covered in black fire.

    Neither panicked – at this point, it was obvious that there would be a way to continue onwards. Hermione was the one to pick up the piece of parchment and read it aloud.

 

_“Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here evermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on the nettle wine’s left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move forward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.”_

 

    Harry wasn’t surprised to see Hermione smiling. He understood, he thought – simple logic after so many things that were unpredictable and could kill you was a little relaxing. She scanned the parchment once more, and then turned her eyes to the phials lined up for them.

    “These are nettle wine,” Hermione announced, pointing to the second bottle and the sixth. “Which means these two are poison,” she continued, moving her fingers to the bottles to the left of those – the first bottle and the fifth bottle.

    “The seventh bottle will take us back,” Harry added.

    “And since the dwarf is not poison,” Hermione plucked the smallest phial from the line, frowning at the contents. “This will take you through.”

    Harry titled his head. “Just me, Hermione?”

    She showed him the bottle – there was barely a swallow left. “Besides, one of us should go back and get Ron. And a professor.”

    “Just admit you don’t want to have to face Quirrell because you’re afraid if you curse him there’ll be consequences,” Harry said with a sly smile.

    Hermione’s lip twitched. “Now, Harry. Where would you get an idea like that? I’m just concerned about Ron, that’s all.”

    Erus hissed a laugh that Harry couldn’t help but join. “Whatever you say, Hermione.” They both took their phials and swallowed the contents.

    “Ugh,” Hermione muttered, putting her phial back in its proper place.

    “Cold,” Harry agreed. He nudged her towards the exit. “Go get the cavalry.”

    “Go make that _fake_ pay,” Hermione returned, and gave him a little wave as she returned the way they’d come.

    _“Are you ready, speaker?”_ Erus asked. _“This will be a quick fight, considering.”_

    _“I am as ready as I can be,”_ Harry replied, pulling out his wand. _“You’ll have to be quite while this goes on – I can’t risk Voldemort or Quirrell knowing…”_

    _“I will be your card,”_ Erus assured him. He stroked a finger down her back and stepped thought the black flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, still not dead! Have this chapter of fun times and classic hits, and to the person in the bookmarks saying Harry's too clever, of course he is. It's his only redeeming feature now, really.
> 
> That and he'll be hecka pretty when he's older ;)
> 
> Comments are appreciated, please and thank you!


	22. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The only difference between a pathogen and a person is that one is far more creative about how they’ll destroy you_

    “Hello, Quirrell,” Harry said, watching as the tall man turned to face him.

    Quirrell’s expression was almost funny. “You don’t seem very surprised, Potter.”

    Harry smiled easily. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

    There was a beat of silence as Quirrell processed that, before he decided to continue as though Harry had said nothing at all. “I’d wondered if I would be seeing you here. You certainly took your time.”

    Harry’s smile this time was all teeth. “I’m flattered you think I’m capable of getting past all of those challenges quicker than I did.”

    Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes appeared out of nowhere to wrap around Harry. They crossed his chest, trapped his arms against his sides, and even started on his legs. Harry stiffened automatically, Erus doing her best to ease his tension as subtly as she could.

    At least this time she was here. Harry would never forget the fear and anger that had rendered him mute and helpless the first time one of Dudley’s gang had decided skipping ropes could be used for something _other_ than skipping.

    “Wait quietly, Potter. I’ll be with you shortly.”

    Harry felt his temper flare, but there was nothing he could do. He watched Quirrell turn around, his attention caught on the large, ornate mirror that sat on two clawed feet in the centre of the chamber. From where Harry stood, unable to move, he could see what looked like writing around the top of the frame.

    “This mirror is the key to finding the Stone.” Quirrell tapped his fingers around the golden frame. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… But he’s in London. By the time he returns, I’ll be long gone.

    “I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master – but _where is it_?”

    Harry pursed his lips. “You don’t think Professor Dumbledore hired you because he knew you were up to something, then?” he asked.

    “Dumbledore is an old fool,” Quirrell snapped, and Harry thought he sounded just a little _too_ angry. “He will be nothing when my master rises again.”

    “If you were so unconcerned about him, why did you use such… Sneaky methods?” The ropes weren’t loosening, and Harry decided that when he returned to the Dursley’s he would get himself to a library and find out how to avoid being tied up. The first time he had been unprepared – this time, he should have been ready.

    “I said, he _will_ be nothing. For now, he is a hindrance, a thorn in my master’s side… But soon, soon he will be gone.”

    “You’re not going to get it,” Harry eventually said, growing bored of watching Quirrell pace in front of the mirror. “I think you’re underestimating Professor Dumbledore, Quirrell.”

    “If I wanted the opinion of a child, I would have asked,” Quirrell replied, sounding more frustrated than ever. If there was a little bit of fear in his voice, Harry didn’t think he was supposed to notice.

    A few moments later, Harry found himself with another question on his tongue. “What will Voldemort do to you if you don’t get him the Stone?”

Quirrell paled. “I will not fail, Potter.”

    “He must have been furious when you failed to get the Stone from Gringotts…” Harry mused.

    “He was… Most displeased,” Quirrell admitted, his trembling hands now at his sides. “He punished me – and decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…”

    Harry snorted. A closer watch indeed – there really wasn’t much closer you could get to a person than attaching to the back of their head. Erus squeezed his neck lightly, her head moving towards his ear. He shook his head, and she settled back down.

    Quirrell muttered a curse that Harry immediately decided he would repeat all summer at Privet Drive while pretending he had no idea what it meant.

    “I don’t understand – is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?”

    Dumbledore’s challenge seemed to be much harder than any of the others, and Harry was quite happy to watch Quirrell struggle with it. He began manoeuvring himself into a seated position – if he was going to be tied up, he may as well be at least a little comfortable.

    “What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”

    Harry was almost comfortable when a voice, high and cruel, spoke. “Use the boy… Use the boy…”

    Quirrell turned, his eyes landing on Harry. “Yes, of course. Potter, come here.” He clapped his hands, and the ropes around Harry vanished.

    _“Speaker,”_ Erus hissed against his throat, but Harry ignored her and walked towards the mirror. He passed Quirrell, staring at him with an almost manic expression in his eyes, and stopped closer to the mirror.

    This close, he could read the words carved into the mirror – _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_. The utter nonsense baffled him, but he couldn’t see his reflection yet and that was what he expected. Mirrors showed _reflections_ , even magical mirrors, Harry was sure. So why couldn’t he see his reflection yet?

    He stepped in front of the mirror, and his reflection was there, right where he’d known it would be. Harry had no idea how the mirror was supposed to help him get the Stone away from Quirrell and Voldemort, but he hadn’t started with many options anyway. His wand was still in his pocket, but would he be able to use it to gain an advantage over his opponent?

    Harry stared at the mirror, but he couldn’t see Quirrell in it. He knew the man was behind him, knew that he should be able to see him in the mirror… But he couldn’t. He could only see his reflection, smirking at him.

    Harry paused. He wasn’t smirking, but his reflection was. As he watched, his reflection reached into its pocket and pulled out a blood red stone. His reflection held it up, taking a moment to study it before locking eyes with Harry and dropping the Stone back into its pocket.

    A heavy weight settled into Harry’s pocket, and his reflection offered him another smirk before pulling out its wand. His reflection mouthed two spells, and then went back to being Harry’s reflection.

    “Well? What do you see?” Quirrell demanded.

    Harry turned to stare at him with an expression that he hoped conveyed what a stupid question that was. “My reflection. What else am I supposed to see?”

    Quirrell muttered another curse. “Get out of the way,” he snarled, and Harry obligingly moved away from the mirror, having gotten exactly what he’d come down here for.

    His hand was in his pocket, fingers around the smooth wood of his wand, when a high, cruel voice spoke. “He lies…”

    “Potter! Come back here. Tell me what you saw.”

    Before Harry could reply, the voice spoke again, raising the hairs along the back of his neck. “Let me speak to him… Face to face.”

    “Master!” Quirrell looked horrified. “You are not strong enough!”

    “I am strong enough for this,” the cruel voice maintained, and Harry wondered if one day he might sound like that.

    Harry watched with interest as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. Quirrell’s head was becoming smaller and smaller as the turban came off, until all that was left was his bald head – and the face Harry was confronted with when Quirrell turned around.

    It was pale, almost completely white. The eyes were a deep, unsettling red like freshly spilled blood, narrowed as they stared at Harry as though they could see into his soul. The face didn’t have a nose – instead, there were two slits like a snakes’.

    “Harry Potter,” the face hissed.

    “Voldemort,” Harry replied. “I’d say it was nice to meet face to face, but it’s not.”

    “Fool,” the face whispered. “You know who you address, yet you speak so disrespectfully?”

    “You killed my parents and murdered lots of people because their beliefs didn’t line up with yours,” Harry pointed out. “You haven’t really given me much to respect you for.”

    Voldemort hadn’t blinked yet, which was disconcerting. “You’re a Slytherin, Harry. Surely you want to be on the winning side?”

    Harry shrugged. “Sure I do. But I’ve already beaten you once, haven’t I?”

    Face contorting with rage, Voldemort snarled, “Nobody defeats Lord Voldemort! I am not defeated!”

    "You look pretty defeated to me. You're on the back of someone's head. Can you even _do_ your own magic?"

    "Enough," Voldemort hundred. "If you will not join me - "

    "I think I'll pass," Harry interrupted.

    "Then you'll go the same way your parents did. _Screaming_."

    That seemed to be some sort of signal, because Quirrell turned and lunged for Harry. Small, fast and used to dodging, Harry skipped away, his heart in his throat. Maybe needling Voldemort hadn't been the best idea after all...

    Quirrell didn't even have his wand, so casting _Expelliarmus_ was useless. The man came at Harry again, with bare hands and Voldemort begging him on.

    "Catch him, take the Stone!"

    Harry fired off a Leg-locker jinx, muttering a curse when the spell whizzed past Quirrell's head.

    " _Expelliarmus_ ," Quirrell shouted, and Harry froze when his wand shot from his hand into Quirrell's. The older wizard took advantage of Harry's shock - magic without a wand was _possible_? - and grabbed for Harry's wrist.

    The moment Quirrell's skin touched his, Harry's scar flared with pain, the agony screaming across his cheek bones. Harry jerked away, somewhat shocked when he realized Quirrell was no longer holding him.

    He saw why a moment later, his eyes widening in disbelief as Quirrell made a sound like a kettle letting off steam, high pitched and long. After a second, Quirrell started screaming.

    Watching the man flail backwards, his skin bubbling and steaming, Harry felt the beginnings of a smile stretch across his face despite the pain from his scar.

    “You can’t touch me,” he said, interrupting the screaming man. The face on the back of his head watched Quirrell’s suffering dispassionately, his eyes moving to glare at Harry through the mirror with intense hatred. Harry stared back, the smile only getting bigger.

    “Kill him,” Voldemort hissed, red eyes burning. “Take the Stone.”

    “Y-yes my lord,” Quirrell replied, giving his smoking hand one last look before starting towards Harry.

    Harry stood his ground. Quirrell was obviously far more afraid of Voldemort than he was of Harry, which made sense. Who would be afraid of an eleven-year-old? Quirrell reached for Harry’s neck, and Harry met his eyes the second his skin touched Harry’s.

    Quirrell leapt back with a scream, staring in horror at his hand. The skin blistered, expanding in uneven bubbles that flared red and sore. Voldemort was snarling at Quirrell, ordering him to get the Stone, to take it, and the man sobbed and started towards Harry again.

    Harry grinned and moved, stretching his hands out in front of him and pressing them against Quirrell’s cheeks.

    With an agonized screech, Quirrell wrenched away, now appearing oblivious to Voldemort snarling at him to _kill him, get the Stone._ Harry stared at his hands – what power did he have, to make the skin of his enemies boil? What power did he have, to make them recoil from him in agony?

    Why had this never worked on _Dudley_?

    Snarling, Harry reached out and _grabbed_ Quirrell, holding on as the man squirmed and screamed. Voldemort howled in fury, cursing Quirrell as the older Wizard fell to his knees.

    "I beat you," Harry said viciously. "I have the Stone - maybe I'll use it. The I'll be the Boy Who Lived Forever, not just the Boy Who Lived."

    "Curse you," Voldemort hissed.

    Whatever Harry was doing to Quirrell, it was taking a lot out of him. When it became obvious that Quirrell could do nothing more - he wasn't breathing anymore, Harry didn't think - Harry let him go and collapsed onto the ground.

    His last, hazy thought before he passed out was that he hoped Voldemort was hurting.

 

-x-x-x-

 

    Harry opened bleary eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. He stared, reaching out with an unconscious hand for his glasses.

    “Here you are, Harry,” a grave voice said, and Harry found his glasses placed into his reaching hand. Feeling slow and uncoordinated, Harry put them on and struggled into a sitting position. He turned to look at the man hovering over his bed – but not his bed in the common room, no. There was the realization that he’d been hurt, and Harry knew he had to be in the hospital wing.

    “Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said hoarsely. He swallowed, and the headmaster offered him a glass of cold, clear water. “Thank you.” The water felt heavenly against his throat, and Harry wondered how long he had been unconscious.

    “You are most welcome, Harry. It is the least I could do – you have done myself, and Nicholas Flammel, a great favour.”

    “How are Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked, relaxing when he felt something smooth moving against his leg.

    “Your friends are well. Mr Weasley spent but an hour under Madam Pomfrey’s care – you, my dear boy, have spent considerably longer. They are most anxious to see you.”

    “The Stone?”

    “Destroyed,” Professor Dumbledore replied serenely. “Nicholas and Perenelle have enough Elixir to set their affairs in order, and then they will continue onto life’s next adventure.”

    “And Quirrell?” Harry could feel his lip curl, but he was still angry. It would run its course, as it always did, but for now it had settled into his bones. Everything was making it worse – Professor Dumbledore’s calm demeanour was certainly fuelling Harry’s anger. “Is he...?”

    The headmaster inclined his head. “Quirrell was dead long before he came to Hogwarts, Harry. Accepting Voldemort into himself as he did had... Dire consequences.”

    “Why did my hands burn him?” Harry asked. “I don’t understand.”

    “There are many forms of magic, Harry. Some are more illusive than others. You will find no real answer to your question, only theories.”

    “What’s your theory, Professor?” It was so _hard_ to keep his voice level, to keep the fury boiling low in his stomach from spilling into his words.

    Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry thoughtfully, his bright blue eyes not quite twinkling. “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…” With a sigh that was somehow not as sad as Harry would have expected, he continued. “To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin.”

    An invisible sign of his dead mother’s love? As much as Harry wished to scoff at the fanciful explanation, he had no idea of anything else that could explain why Quirrell had been unable to touch him. Instead, he nodded, dropping his face into a posture he knew made him look like he was upset. When Harry looked up, pretending to have collected himself, Professor Dumbledore was looking out the nearby window, studying a dull brown bird, a half-smile on his face as it warbled.

    “Thank you,” Harry said quietly.

    Professor Dumbledore inclined his head. “Did you have anymore questions for me, Harry?”

    _“The hiding skin,”_ Erus piped up, her voice muffled by the sheets.

    “Why did you have my father’s cloak, Professor?”

    The question made the headmaster’s eyes twinkle. “Your father left it in my care before he died. I thought it only proper to return it to you, now that you’re here.”

    The smile on Harry’s face felt almost painful – his anger was still burning in his chest. “Thank you,” he said, “for keeping it safe for me.”

    The Headmaster stood. “You are most welcome, Harry. I think it would be best if you started on your gifts.”

    Harry nodded, finally noticing the pile of presents that occupied the table opposite to the headmaster. After helping himself so a chocolate frog, Professor Dumbledore left Harry to his own thoughts.

    _“Speaker?”_ Erus slithered into view. _“You are angry,”_ she said once she could see his face. _“Are you not pleased that the not-mouse one is dead, speaker?”_

_“We don’t get back the time spent on Quirrell and his mess.”_ Harry surveyed the pile of presents, noting that most of them seemed to be sweets. There were three book shaped packages, and it was those that Harry reached for first.

    Erus moved up to settle herself on Harry’s shoulders. _“Perhaps there will be a way.”_

_“To go back?”_ Harry snorted – the first book was from Zabini, and it was a basic guide to medi-wizardry. _“I don’t think so, Erus.”_

    The next book was a chess book from – of all people – Malfoy. Harry stared at that one for a good minute before putting it aside. Whatever note awaited him inside, it could wait.

    The last book was the most astonishing. Titled _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , the majority of the book appeared to show the bloodlines of the pureblood families – the Potter line in the book, for example, finished with James Potter. The Malfoy line included Draco Malfoy.

    The note left with it simply said, _Since you don’t know where you came from_ , and was signed _N.L_. Harry stared at the note for a long moment and eventually placed the book on top of Draco’s book.

    Madam Pomfrey bustled in, her eyes snapping immediately to Harry. “I’m very happy to see you awake, Mr Potter,” she said, “although I would recommend you not eat your sweets for just a moment. I need to cast a few diagnostic spells, to make sure that everything is healing well. May I?”

    Harry stared at the older woman, stunned that she had asked for permission. He’d never been asked if it was okay if he was touched, if it was okay to look – then again, he’d never been to very many doctors before.

    “Of course, Madam Pomfrey.”

    If she thought anything of his pause, she didn’t say it. Instead, Madam Pomfrey whipped out her wand and waved it in the air, and Harry watched in amazement as colours began to appear over his skin. He couldn’t feel anything, and he had no idea what the colours meant, but the array of colours was almost dazzling.

    Madam Pomfrey waved her wand again to cancel the spell. “Everything appears to be healing nicely,” she told him, but there was something pinched about her smile that made it not quite reassuring.

    Harry frowned. “Is everything alright Madam Pomfrey?”

    “Quite, Mr Potter. There are a couple of potions I would like you to take, however.”

    “Why?”

    Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “I believe they will greatly benefit you.”

    _“She is angry,”_ Erus hissed.

    “Erus said you’re angry, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said quietly. “Did I do something wrong?”

    Madam Pomfrey cast a look at Erus. “You did nothing wrong, Mr Potter. Your scan showed that you’re healing well, but there are potions I can give you that will help boost your healing.”

    Harry nodded – healing faster was never a bad thing, in his opinion. “Okay, I’ll take the potions.”

    “Rest now, Mr Potter. I will send your friends in when you wake up.”

    With a brilliant smile, Harry laid back down. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you lovely people leaving comments, and hello to all my new readers :D Thanks for dropping in - why don't you stay a while~


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